


When in Midgar

by Reyanth



Series: Go With the Lifestream [2]
Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Bribery, Canonical Character Death, Cock Slut, Crossdressing, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, PWP, S&M, Semi-Public Sex, Spoilers, Voyeurism, vr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23650243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyanth/pseuds/Reyanth
Summary: Cloud didn't always have it easy as a soldier, but he remembers kindness and loving. He also remembers a vicious predator he can't seem to escape. Surely the two can't be related, but it's hard to know for sure. Better to just bury it all deep down, and distract oneself with matters of the flesh. Let the mind and heart lie still. Let them rest.(A somewhat arbitrary experiment with various potential pairings in the FFVII Remake, probably eventually including various Turks and Sephiroth, and maintaining some kind of flimsy through-line as Cloud sleeps his way through the men of Midgar.)
Relationships: (Past) Sephiroth/Zack Fair, (Past) Zack Fair/Cloud Strife, Cloud Strife/Biggs, Cloud Strife/Johnny, Kunsel/Cloud Strife, Lazard Deusericus/Sephiroth, Leslie Kyle/Cloud Strife, Reno/Rufus Shinra, Rude/Rufus Shinra, Sephiroth/Cloud Strife, Sephiroth/Rufus Shinra, Tseng/Reno
Series: Go With the Lifestream [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756096
Comments: 44
Kudos: 102





	1. New Beginnings (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler warning: In addition to spoilers for the FFVII Remake, there is also some background from Before Crisis/Crisis Core/Last Order worked in from the series canon.
> 
> Other notes: This fic will traverse multiple pairings and exhibit a thin excuse for a plot. On the flip side...it will have a thin excuse for a plot. Please enjoy.
> 
> Warning: Most chapters are light and smutty, but some will deal with Cloud's emotional struggle with losing certain people.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud reflects on life pre-Midgar, and on the unexpected bonds he's beginning to form. Tormented by the specter of Sephiroth, he knows that he can't go back to who he was in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prologue has been retroactively added as a new starting point for a fic that is beginning to take on more plot than ever intended.

Cloud lay awake, shivering slightly in the stale night air, as if he might never feel warm again. There weren't such things as fresh breezes under the plate here in Midgar, so the chill could only be coming from deep within him.

Sephiroth. Several times now, he had seen Sephiroth—felt Sephiroth, scented Sephiroth, been confronted by none other than Sephiroth...and yet, it wasn't possible. It couldn't be. After all, Sephiroth was dead...wasn't he? Hadn't Cloud killed him?

But...how? How could Cloud possibly have killed that immensely powerful hero? It didn't add up. It couldn't possibly be true. So, if Cloud's memory was faulty, or if he was missing something... If Sephiroth was, in fact, alive... Could it be possible that he was there in Midgar, dogging Cloud's every move?

It was unlikely. If Cloud hadn't actually succeeded in killing the hero he had idolized all his life, then there was no reason for someone so exceptional to bother with someone as mundane as he was. SOLDIER, First Class... It meant nothing. There were so few soldiers at all these days, Cloud couldn't exactly test himself against another to figure out just what that really meant. He knew he wasn't anywhere near the level of Sephiroth, or other titans like Angeal... So what did it mean to be First Class, then?

Cloud only became First Class after the mass desertion during the war with Wutai, and then, soon enough, he and Sephiroth were all that remained of that once vaunted title. Sephiroth... If Cloud couldn't live up to that man's standard, then he may as well be Second Class or below.

Then again, what did a rank even matter if he was a deserter, himself? He'd taken on the bulk of the Shinra forces and survived, but that left him a lone wolf, without purpose or direction. He'd been lucky to reconnect with Tifa and find work with Avalanche. Their goals were unrealistic, but as long as he got paid in the meantime, what did it matter if they succeeded or not?

Cloud rolled onto his side, uncomfortable with the train of his own, contradictory thoughts. Before his mind flashed the faces of the team he had worked with that day to destroy an entire mako reactor. Suddenly, taking down Shinra didn't seem quite so unrealistic. Suddenly, it seemed like maybe it could start to matter to him...

Barret was a blowhard, but his passion for the planet was difficult to ignore. Jessie was a little too cheery to be blowing things up, but she had the skills, for sure. Wedge... Well, Wedge had enthusiasm, at least... And Biggs... He was practical, clever, and... Not and. But. But... But...? Wrinkling his nose, Cloud found he had no criticism for Biggs. Didn't that just mean Biggs was so damn ordinary there was nothing to nitpick? Or did it mean he actually had respect for the man?

Whatever. It didn't matter whether he liked or respected Avalanche or not. So long as he got paid.

Something was going on with him, and he needed to figure it out, but first and foremost, he needed to survive. To do that, he needed money. Only once he could support himself, could he start to unravel what he was going to do from here. He needed a goal of his own, a place to belong...

It was so hard to start over in this new life when his old life haunted him every step of the way. He was awake, scared and confused, because a sickly man separated from him only by a wall might turn into Sephiroth at any moment.

He was scared because Sephiroth was terrifyingly powerful, and also terrifyingly mad. He was confused because Sephiroth was also confoundingly beautiful, and confoundingly drawn to him, of all people.

A large part of Cloud wanted nothing more than to go next door, pin his neighbor down, and kiss him until it was Sephiroth who was kissing him back... Tongue lashing his, teeth scraping his lower lip, draconic eyes laughing at his need...

Curling in on himself, Cloud tried to fight the desire that washed over him like raw Fira. He could almost feel Sephiroth at his back, breathing upon his neck, lips whispering across his hairline, teeth barely grazing his ear lobe.

There had been nights like that on the road. The two of them alone together on mission... By day, Sephiroth was cold and haughty, completely unapproachable and out of Cloud's league. By night...he was discreetly passionate, taking Cloud from behind without so much as a word of discussion, and he was so dominating that it had never occurred to Cloud to resist. Why should he? Why would he want to? Sephiroth was everything he admired, everything he dreamed of...

That was why Sephiroth's betrayal cut so deeply into his soul, almost rending him in two. Sometimes, he felt like there were actually two of him—one who loved and desired Sephiroth, and one who despised him...

One thing was clear. Cloud could never go back to the cold, dispassionate focus he had clung to in his teenage years while striving toward joining SOLDIER. Sephiroth had taken that from him along with his innocence. Now, Cloud was twisted up with mind-bending desire that had no outlet. He'd go mad if he didn't...

Who was he kidding? He was already going mad.

Fantasizing that the man next door had crawled into bed with him and taken over the work of his hands, Cloud thrust desperately into a constricting grip until he came, hard, with a brutal practicality that left him wanting.

*

"Ooh! Betty needs help with a sick kitty? I'll be right there!" Wedge cried, running after Tifa in a lumbering gait that nonetheless seemed oddly graceful. Cloud watched him go, and then was startled by a movement just at the edge of his peripheral vision. He suddenly realized he was alone with Biggs.

"I won't pretend I haven't been looking forward to having a moment alone with that great big sword of yours," Biggs said with a grin.

On another man, with less ruggedly handsome features, that grin might have been a leer. On Biggs...it was a little bit charming.

Perhaps that was why Cloud was swayed to flirt just a little. He put his hands on his hips and peered through his lashes at the man, waiting...

"Well? Come on, hand it over," Biggs insisted, holding out his hand.

"Oh, you meant this one," Cloud deadpanned, reaching for the handle over his shoulder.

The look of surprise that rippled across Biggs' face was worth it, especially when a glint of calculation followed in its wake. The rebel weapons enthusiast took the sword, quietly poring over it with his eyes and feeling out any dents or scratches, almost reverently.

"I bet this thing has a hell of a story," he murmured eventually, glancing up at Cloud, almost shyly, as if to hint that he wasn't just talking about the weapon.

Cloud couldn't help a tiny fifth of a smirk. That sword had passed through two generations into his hands, wielded by heroes the likes of Angeal and... No, that was... Where had he gotten a third owner from? Angeal had entrusted that sword to him. That was its whole legacy. Of course, it was a hell of a legacy. Maybe that was why Cloud seemed to want to expand upon it. It almost seemed too big for just one man...

"Sorry, man... I should have known better than to talk like that about an instrument of war. It's a bad habit of mine... I really shouldn't find weapons as sexy as I do, considering what they're used for, but—"

"It's fine," Cloud said gruffly, folding his arms to curb the instinct to take the sword back. "It's just a sword."

"Hey, listen... I was meaning to ease into this. I'd rather be subtle about it, but that's not really my specialty, so... Here goes." Despite the resolve in his words, Biggs waited for Cloud's eyes to flick up to his face. Only then did he continue. "What are your intentions with Jessie?"

Cloud prided himself on being stoic and unreadable, but his eyes flared in shock at that question. It was the last thing he had expected.

"Jessie?" he asked, dumbly.

"Yeah. I mean, you two were flirting hard yesterday. At least, I assume that's what flirting looks like on you... And I can tell she's starting to develop a bit of a thing for you. Normally, I wouldn't go and share something like that, but... She's like a sister to me. If you broke her heart, I'd have to kill you. So be straight with me, here."

In many ways, the last thing Cloud wanted was to be straight with Biggs. Nonetheless, he took the words at face value and nodded once, staring straight ahead at the far wall as he said, "I'm not interested." He held out his hand without looking back at Biggs, sheathing his sword in one fluid motion the moment the handle came into his palm. He turned and made for the door. "I don't think that's what you really want to ask me, though..." he floated as he paused in the doorway. "We both know you know she's not my type."

Let the big dope chew on that for a bit... Cloud had work to do.

*

Staring at the open sky through the doorway where Cloud had stood a moment before, Biggs unconsciously licked his lips. He had the distinct feeling he was trying to bite off more than he could chew, but he'd always had eyes bigger than his stomach. There weren't many around who knew his preferences. In fact, that was one of the things he and Jessie had first bonded over. She'd claimed to have fallen head over heels for him, as he now knew she was prone to doing just to break the damn ice, so Biggs had been frank with her, and they'd been as thick as thieves, ever since. That was how he knew there was a lot more truth in her flirtation with Cloud than the usual light banter and doe eyes... She really liked him. That was too bad. For once, though, Biggs couldn't bring himself to feel too bad for her, because her loss might just be his gain.

In retrospect, it seemed pretty obvious that a guy like that would never wear his interest so openly as to match Jessie in her flirty banter—however wryly he played it. Maybe he let his guard down so far with her precisely because she wasn't on his radar... No 'maybes' about it. He'd been about as clear there as he ever would be. Cloud was not interested in women. Not Jessie, not Tifa... Hell, not even a pretty little pixie like that Aerith from Sector 5.

Of course, just because Cloud wasn't into the fairer sex didn't necessarily mean he was into Biggs. There had been a moment or two there when Biggs had thought he was being invited by those shimmering, mako-drenched eyes, but he didn't have a good enough read on Cloud to be sure. He had a feeling that if certainty was what he wanted, he was going to have to make a move so bold and open there was no taking it back. Something told him that was what Cloud would respond to, and the only way to get a straight answer out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for more Biggs after the following commercial break...


	2. Heeere's Johnny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word on the street is, Johnny's a real talker, but there are ways to fix that.
> 
> Cloud/Johnny

Stepping out of the shadows into the path of a man making his conspicuous way through a dark, empty alley, Cloud crossed his arms and cocked his head, putting the handle of his immense buster sword on display over his shoulder. "I hear you like to talk."

With a nervous gulp, Johnny stopped in his tracks. He took a moment to regroup, but did so with a watery smile and impressive bluster. "Hey, I'll talk any which way you want, Baby."

Cloud huffed through his nose, continuing as if Johnny hadn't spoken up at all. "Tifa doesn't seem to think that's a problem. Problem is, Tifa's soft."

"Soft in all the right places...am I right?"

"Not from my perspective," Cloud growled. It had been a long day...after a long, rough, lonely night... This guy had caused him plenty of trouble, and caused Tifa to start seeing Cloud for who he really was, and that was inconvenient... "And the way I see it, someone needs to shut that mouth of yours."

Johnny wasn't easily staggered—not in matters of the tongue, at least. He was all boyish charm, now, that brazenly bare chest puffed out for show along with a wide, toothy grin.

"Or keep it busy, you know? Real busy. Real full. Too full to talk. Stuffed full of your dick, if you know what I mean."

Cloud was ready to retort, but the words died on his tongue and he slowly shut his mouth, blinking in confusion. "Damn... You...really are a liability," he marveled. "I was going to use you like the little bitch you are and put you in your place, but now I'm starting to think you actually need silencing."

Perhaps it was his baffled tone which faded to a mild conviction that gave away the fact that he wasn't bluffing, but Johnny's demeanor changed drastically. He licked his lips nervously—which was a distracting sight, to be frank—and stumbled, falling down on his rump.

"Th... There's a materia for that..." he suggested, weakly.

"Yeah," Cloud agreed, turning his wrist to display the materia in his wrist guard that definitely wasn't Binding materia. "This should do the trick..." He leaned down, pressing his palm to Johnny's solar plexus and smiling ominously. "Don't you think?"

Johnny's eyes lingered on the rare and maliciously murderous materia Cloud had equipped. "Listen, Cloud, you can kill me any time—literally any time you want. That's just how strong you are—and we all know it. That's what you're good at. Me, though? I'm real good at what I do, too. Come on. Give me a shot. If you're not satisfied, you can kill me. That's how good I am. Whaddya say?"

The truth was, nothing Johnny said was going to convince Cloud not to kill or at least maim him, nothing at all. That body of his, on the other hand... He was extraneously fit and handsome. If he would just shut the hell up and sit there like a sexy, mute work of art, Cloud might change his mind entirely... Johnny was right about at least one thing, though. There was one particular way to mute him that Cloud anticipated he would find most satisfactory.

"I'm gonna need a sample before I decide," he said, straightening up and un-clipping his belt.

Holding it out to his right, he let it fall to the dirt, making a heavy dent. Johnny's eyes were fixed upon it for a long moment as he absorbed just how strong Cloud was, and how confident he had to be to start stripping off armor without any hint of vulnerability.

"I can do that. I can totally do that. Just step right up, hot stuff," Johnny eventually invited, spreading his arms and rising onto his knees.

It was oddly pleasing to be addressed in such a way, even if they were just empty words. In fact, Cloud's own enthusiasm made him a little nervous as he freed himself from his pants, making an extra effort to hide any signs of weakness. He wasn't exactly a blushing virgin. He just wasn't used to people paying him compliments.

That...wasn't entirely the truth. Women complimented him all the time, always going on about how handsome he was, and how strong and clever. He didn't really care what most of them thought of him. Men, on the other hand, usually either envied him and expressed that sentiment in aggression, or kept their thoughts to themselves in quiet appreciation. With a guy as good looking as Johnny calling him hot, Cloud's instinct was to feel shy. It almost reminded him of something, or...someone...

That was exactly why he portrayed the opposite of shy appreciation, so aggressively that nobody would ever suspect he had a shy bone in his body. It wasn't as if it was that shy bone Johnny was gawking at, anyway.

"Anyone ever told you, you've got a real pretty penis?" Johnny asked, reaching out almost reverently to heft Cloud's awakening erection in his palm. Before Cloud could decide whether he was suppose to answer such a preposterous question, Johnny turned those honeyed-bourbon eyes up at him and asked earnestly, "May I?"

Cloud felt strange giving permission like that, and simply nodded, gasping when Johnny instantly began stroking him and extended his neck to slide his slips around what quickly became the center of Cloud's world. Johnny really was that good. It would be a crying shame to kill him, or to cut out his shockingly dexterous tongue, for that matter. Clutching the back of Johnny's skull in a vice-like grip, Cloud grit his teeth against a groan of ecstasy.

Easing off, Johnny blew out a little breath over wet skin that made Cloud shiver. "That's enough for a sample, wouldn't you say?" he breathed, looking up through oddly lustrous lashes. "I'm not gay, you know. This ain't for my benefit. You don't get more than that unless I get something out of it."

Cloud's eyebrows raised at that, and he fought to stifle his surprise. No straight man sucked cock like that. He had to be lying.

"Then... Why?" he asked, unable to let it go without an answer.

"It's a marketable skill, and that goes for a lot down here," Johnny told him, slowly stroking Cloud's shaft to keep the deal alive. "I don't hate it. I just...don't get emotionally attached to guys, you know? Or anyone, really. Except Tifa."

"Tifa?"

The moment the question was out, Cloud came to an answer on his own. It made sense. Tifa had bigger balls than most men, with all the perks of a prime, womanly physique. A guy like Johnny—attracted to women but accustomed to bedding men—would appreciate both of those factors.

Cloud appreciated the former. He liked Tifa. The womanly physique didn't do much for him, though... Shrugging off thoughts of a certain man, the former soldier resolved to focus on present company.

"It's a deal," he said, flexing his hand to feel the softness of Johnny's hair through his fingers, "Show me how quiet you can be with your mouth full, and I won't kill you."

"You sure know how to sweet talk a guy," Johnny joked, a note of fear mixed in with his relief, as though he had only just realized Cloud really would kill him just to shut him up.

"Get to work," Cloud murmured, groaning a moment later when Johnny's smart mouth closed around him once again.

A commotion out on the street caused Cloud to tense up, and a spike of pleasure to course throughout his body, but then he relaxed, and let another wave ripple through him with the relief, because he knew they couldn't be seen. There was just enough light on the path that he could see the group of drunk men stumble on by, but he and Johnny were hidden in the deep shadows of a rundown old shack and all the scrap metal leaning against the side of it. That was the slums for you—not enough light to be safe, and just enough darkness to hide in.

A grunt escaped him, as Johnny's teeth teased the tip of his cock, but the passersby were loud enough to drown him out, and then their voices faded and there was no one to hear Cloud confess his pleasure anymore. That didn't mean he was going to advertise it. Keeping a tight rein on himself, Cloud clenched his teeth and arched his neck.

"That's it," he breathed, stroking Johnny's hair like he might soothe a dog.

For a while, the only sounds were a faint metallic clang coming from elsewhere in the sector, and Cloud's soft groaning. He could hardly believe what Johnny was doing with every part of his mouth and every part of Cloud's arousal. He'd never felt like this. Not even with... Who...?

Shaking off the confusion, Cloud tugged almost gently on Johnny's hair, indicating for him to stop. He was breathing heavily, staring down into Johnny's nervous eyes.

"You're gonna have to leave town," he warned, feeling oddly moved to the generosity of explaining himself. "Knowing who Avalanche are is just as dangerous for you as it is for them. A single word to anyone might just get Tifa killed, you know."

Johnny nodded, his gaze sober. "I know... I know. I don't wanna cause trouble. I'll leave. Promise."

Cloud nodded, still holding Johnny by the hair and now considering whether to proceed, or...

"So...hey. Let me thank you properly, for not killing me and all," Johnny suggested, stroking Cloud's thigh. "Hell, consider it a public service," he said, gaining confidence in Cloud's flustered appearance. "You really need to get laid, man. Not that it'd be hard, with a face like that and those pretty, sea-green eyes of yours, but something tells me you won't bother if I don't help you out, here."

Cautiously, as if trying not to spook him, Johnny got to his feet and unfastened his jeans. He dropped them and then turned to test the iron support of whatever shack lay beyond the alley. It was solid, if a little noisy, and he braced himself.

"Go on," he prompted, glancing back and wiggling his butt.

Cloud might have argued the moral issue of sleeping with someone who wasn't gay just because they were mildly attractive and didn't seem to mind, but Johnny wasn't wrong. Lately, Cloud had started seeing his obsession everywhere he went, and it was starting to take a toll. Maybe getting laid really was the answer. Still... This was abrasive, even for a soldier. He procrastinated.

"If you think I'll ever let you lay a hand on Tifa after this—"

"Me?" Johnny laughed bitterly. "Only in my dreams. Tifa deserves better than used goods. She deserves better than a cold-hearted doll like you, too."

"At least we're in agreement," Cloud muttered, taking an experimental hold on Johnny's hip. He paused, not quite sure what the expectation was here. "You sure?" he asked, just for good measure.

"I could stand to get laid, too," Johnny told him, pressing his bare backside into Cloud's crotch. "Like I said, I'm not really into anyone other than Tifa, but I have eyes, man. And hey, a pretty SOLDIER like you? Bet you know how to handle a sword."

That hit a bit of a nerve, to be honest, but it got Cloud past the hurdle. "I liked you better with your mouth full," he sighed, wrapping his arms around Johnny and stuffing two fingers between the man's busy lips.

When he brought those fingers down to scope out how much give he had to work with, he pulled Johnny's face toward him, thrusting his tongue between Johnny's lips instead to keep them nice and busy while his other hand explored the intriguing landscape of Johnny's torso.

It wasn't long before Johnny was moaning into his mouth—a combination of sound and vibration that went straight to Cloud's groin. Even as he lined himself up and eased his way into Johnny's body, a draconian green gaze floated in his mind's eye, so he made sure to keep his eyes open, continuing to occupy Johnny's tongue with his own all the while. Soon, their mouths just wouldn't line up anymore, and they both diverted their focus to what was going on below the waist. Johnny was bracing hard against the iron, trying to dull the sound of Cloud's pounding by applying an even pressure. Cloud, for his part, didn't bother trying to hide. He had no attachment to these people and Johnny would be gone soon. It was unlikely that anyone would come to investigate—this kind of noise was all too common in Sector 7—but Cloud didn't much care what anyone thought of him.

Except maybe Tifa. Barret, meanwhile, could sit on that gun hand of his if he had a problem.

Then again, there was that one guy, who was slowly creeping under Cloud's skin... And the chipper bomber girl who somehow made him want to smile... But otherwise, he really didn't give a damn what anyone thought of him. He wouldn't even...

Johnny was whispering a string of curses so creative they almost turned Cloud on even further from sheer perversity. "Shut up," he hissed, right into Johnny's ear. Not because the sound of it might draw any more attention than the dull banging and thumping, but because he could. It pleased him to hold power over Johnny like this, and when the man's tongue stilled, Cloud shifted, pulling Johnny's weight back onto himself and supporting him, driving up hard and fast until a strangled cry announced that Johnny had arrived.

Close, Cloud squeezed the man's hips tightly and continued to pump into him. He was trembling on the verge but unable to reach that last peak when Johnny broke away from him, falling onto his knees and slurping Cloud's cock into his mouth with a tight, wet suction that stole all the light and air for a long, exquisite moment.

When it was over, Cloud stumbled back a few steps, almost tripping over his discarded belt. He shook his head, and stared down at Johnny who was spitting into the dirt and wiping his chin. When he met Cloud's eyes, it was with a wry smile. He didn't say a word.

He was making a point. Fine. Let him. Cloud huffed and scooped up his belt, walking away without another word.

As he expected, Johnny couldn't quite help himself. "Look after her, you hear me?"

Cloud just raised his hand in acknowledgement and kept walking. He had places to be, shit to blow up, materia to earn... He smiled to himself just a little, however. It was sweet that Johnny's overriding instinct was Tifa's safety. He wasn't so bad, was Johnny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But why, though? Why did I feel the need to write this? Leslie, I get. But Johnny? Just why? Aside from the fact that he's disturbingly handsome all of a sudden. Damn those character designers.


	3. No Time Like the Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Biggs makes a move just when Cloud least expects it, and unguarded souls fall fast.
> 
> Biggs/Cloud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask, and ye shall receive (if I feel like it, and if you can handle how it represents). :p

The sounds of laughter and gaiety permeated even the sad, cold room in which Cloud searched in silence. The figure on the bed breathed steadily, aided by the machines keeping him alive. It was oddly calming, and certainly aided in reiterating the need for stealth. He doubted the man would wake up for any amount of noise, but it seemed respectful to maintain silence, nonetheless.

"Oh, would you? What a dear!"

"Don't mention it, ma'am. I'm happy to help."

"Yeah! You just stay right here and keep those big ol' slices coming, Mrs. R!"

Cloud froze for a moment, then carefully moved to one side of the doorway, shrouded in the dark of the night. The voices of his companions and Jessie's mother grew louder for a moment before being muted by a freshly closed door.

Someone was approaching. Cloud suspected it was Biggs who was making his way down the hall, but he meant to be prepared for any eventuality.

A very quiet rap on the door gave Cloud warning that the person on the other side knew he was there and was signaling so as not to startle him. He waited, and sure enough, Biggs slipped into the gloomy room. He closed the door behind him, leaning on it as he looked around for Cloud.

Seeing as Biggs couldn't seem to spot him in the shadow in which he crouched, Cloud took advantage and grabbed the man from behind, silencing him easily, and binding him effectively. "What are you doing?" he breathed, making sure to infuse even that slight whisper with his incredulity that Biggs was compromising the mission like this.

Biggs, practical and calm as ever, made no frantic attempts to escape, or to signal to Cloud to let him go. Instead, he waited. The moment his mouth was freed, he twisted his neck so that his own whisper would travel easier, and said, "It was me, or the whole gang. I said I'd take a look at the equipment for her."

That was a reasonable explanation, so Cloud let the man go, though he was a little reluctant. He liked the feel of Biggs in his arms, and the sense of holding the other man at his mercy.

However, once released, Biggs didn't move to put any distance between them. Rather, he turned on the spot, leaning toward Cloud's ear and resting his weight against the wall, metaphorically pinning Cloud in place though he would never have the strength to actually do so.

"That you're doing this for Jessie... It means a lot," he whispered, his breath warmly caressing Cloud's ear. "I misjudged you. I want to thank you."

"Not now," Cloud hissed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the proximity, even though he was the one who had initiated it. 

Over Biggs' shoulder, he could see Jessie's father—prone and insensible, yet as present and tangible as sound or light. This wasn't the time.

"Relax," Biggs soothed, running his hand down Cloud's arm, over his hip... "You're too tense."

He was right. Cloud was tense. Too tense.

It was strange how they had only known each other for a couple of days, yet Cloud inherently understood that Biggs could read the truth of that fact. He wasn't talking about Cloud's reluctance to be so intimate in the middle of a mission, right in front of a comatose man with mako poisoning. He was talking about the stress that had been building in Cloud for days, ever since Sephiroth began to appear in what had seemed at first to be hallucinations. He was talking about the fears Cloud harbored over where he had come from and where he was heading. He was talking about the need Cloud had to distance himself from Avalanche, even as he was inevitably drawn in by these people whose cause he found he almost believed in.

Biggs was concerned about him. Biggs, a man he barely knew...genuinely cared about him.

Nobody had made him feel so safe, so at ease...except for... No one. There was no one.

When Biggs' lips pressed firmly against his own, Cloud accepted them fiercely. The tension in his body heightened even further, because he was still fighting. Everything in him said to find the damn key card and get the hell out of there. He was on a mission. They weren't alone. It was all too personal. Everything about this was sheer danger.

Yet he wanted so badly just to feel Biggs' lips on his, to revel in the touch and tenderness of another human being...

Only hours ago, he had pounded Johnny into the ramshackle of Sector 7 like a blacksmith with a vendetta. Johnny had been painfully right when he'd said Cloud had needed to get laid. The thing was, Cloud had thought that was taken care of. He'd thought that pure, animalistic sex was enough.

The tears sliding down his cheeks as Biggs kissed him proved otherwise. The longing in his heart for something more intimate, manifesting anew in his body, put him to shame. He shook his head slightly, his lips grazing against Biggs', and swallowed heavily.

"I can't do this," he choked.

Pressing even closer against him, Biggs kissed the corner of Cloud's mouth as his hand squeezed between their bodies, feeling its way between armor and material to reach Cloud's skin, stroking lightly. He wasn't demanding, but he was resolved.

"You have to," he asserted, his mouth moving over Cloud's cheek and toward his hair line, pressing momentarily against the pounding pulse at Cloud's temple. "When we leave here, there'll be fighting. You can't fight like this."

How could Biggs possibly know so much? In moments, he had discerned Cloud's distress, and moved to unravel it. Nobody could possibly read anyone that easily, let alone Cloud.

"Just relax," Biggs urged, sliding his hand down—down into Cloud's pants, down to curl around his willful erection and stroke softly. "Forget where we are. Forget what we're doing. Just be with me right now, while we have the chance."

"Stop talking," Cloud gasped, giving in. If they were going to do this, it had better be in complete silence, at least.

Biggs complied, kissing Cloud's neck as his stroking gained urgency. His hardness was pressed into the crease between Cloud's thigh and hip, rubbing into a steady grind at half the pace of his frantically jerking fist. Fighting a groan, Cloud clutched Biggs' shoulder, then let his neck fall forward so he could bury his face in green cotton and sturdy muscle.

It was hasty and inelegant, and not at all what Cloud wanted with Biggs now that he acknowledged the truth, but it was also seeded with passion and understanding, and the air of danger made a rough hand job feel like nirvana. When Biggs' fingers curled about the back of his neck, angling his head upward, he reached for the lips that closed over his own once more, and they swallowed each others moans as they peaked together, shuddering and struggling for silent gulps of air.

Clutching weakly at Biggs' shirt as a thousand different sentiments rushed through his mind, Cloud fought to regain his composure. Meanwhile, Biggs gingerly pulled his hand free, wiping it off on the inside of his own shirt. With one last, silent peck to Cloud's lips, he withdrew, making a detour to inspect the medical equipment sustaining Jessie's father before retreating from the room. He leaned against the door frame, haloed by the light of the hall, his eyes promising this wouldn't be the end of it, even as the sadness in them admitted that it might be—if one or both of them failed to make it back to Sector 7 in one piece.

After he disappeared into the light beyond that shadowed room, Cloud slid weakly to the ground, wiping a sheen of sweat and tears from his face. This wasn't what he had signed up for. He wasn't ready to move on...

From who? Sephiroth? Why the hell not? It was years ago that they had been together, long before the razing of Nibleheim, and all that had followed. There had never been anything formal between them, no relationship to speak of beyond mutual gratification... So why did Cloud feel like he was betraying the love of his life by letting sentiment into the picture? He was falling apart...but he was afraid he might just disintegrate entirely if he didn't hold on to something, or someone, present.

That SOLDIER on the bike had left Cloud feeling so restless. What was his class? Did he recognize Cloud? Could he be the test of strength Cloud craved?

So much was uncertain. So much was in flux.

That was the appeal of a calm, stable guy like Biggs. A shelter in the storm with an open door and warm light beckoning him in.

Staggering to his feet, Cloud took a deep breath, and then slowly released it. All things considered, he did feel some of the weight lifted from his shoulders. Right now, all of their lives depended on successfully completing the mission on which they had already embarked. Other concerns could—and must—wait, but at least his head was clearer for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sheer popularity of Biggs (who I will probably refer to as "Mr. Midgar" from now on) as displayed in requests and comments seems to have proportionately affected Cloud's emotional investment.
> 
> That being said, this fic was never intended to take any one pairing too seriously, so don't get too used to it. :p


	4. The Man in the Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud processes his feelings for Biggs.  
> In a strange dream, he comes to terms with his feelings for...himself?
> 
> Biggs+Cloud  
> Cloud/Cloud?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case this warning is needed... This story follows the remake canon. Gird your loins.

Having retrieved his reward from Jessie, Cloud started heading back to the apartment he was staying in, but found himself hesitating. Biggs hadn't been in when he passed by earlier with Wedge, but if Jessie was back, that meant Biggs had to be as well, right?

Would he be glad to see Cloud, or would Cloud be imposing, if he dropped by? They'd just returned from a heck of an adventure for someone not even among the lower ranks of SOLDIER. From the bike battle to the incident in Jessie's house to the raid on Shinra's warehouse, and then their escape by parachute... Biggs had to be worn out.

Maybe that wouldn't matter if AVALANCHE didn't have another mission for him tomorrow, but they did. A booty call could make enough of a difference to get him killed. Sleep was vital when one was putting one's life on the line.

Having decided not to call on Biggs after all, Cloud let his feet carry him toward the long route back to his apartment. It went by Biggs' house, but he just wanted to reassure himself that the man had returned safely. 

He hadn't expected to find Biggs out front, sweeping.

"What are you doing?" Cloud growled. "Don't you have a mission tomorrow?"

"Shhh," Biggs hissed, glancing around in alarm. "And you call yourself a SOLDIER?"

He quickly tugged Cloud through the door of his house where they could talk with a little more privacy. Before things could be taken in the wrong direction, Cloud backed up against the front door, folding his arms.

"My bad," he said. He did know better than to bring up AVALANCHE business right out there on the street. He'd just been so thrown by running into Biggs when his own reasoning for avoidance had seemed so sound. "You really should be sleeping, though."

It was almost criminal how charming Biggs' grin was as it spread across his features like the reflection of the sun rising over the dark ocean. What was it about him that had Cloud going weak at the knees? He was nowhere near as gorgeous as Sephiroth, nor as manly as Angeal, or as charming as Genesis. This rugged appeal of his was unfathomable.

It was just... Cloud couldn't help feeling as though that indomitable cheer and unyielding determination were exactly his type. Damned if he could remember having met anyone with those traits before, though... Unless... There was Reno of the Turks. He did seem to fit the bill. Was that it? Had Cloud been hiding from himself a crush on that redheaded bombshell? Better Biggs than that braggart.

"You worrying about me?" Biggs asked, sidling closer.

The light inside was dim, but it was plenty to see by, and Biggs seemed to see a lot as he tilted Cloud's face upward with a hand on his cheek. He was staring so deeply into Cloud's eyes, it felt like being scrutinized without clothes.

Cloud turned his face aside, trying to dislodge Biggs' fingers from his cheek. "Don't," he grumbled.

"Why not?" Biggs questioned. "They're beautiful."

"They're inhuman," Cloud hissed.

Mako was something he had once admired and striven for, but now he knew that it was a travesty. The more mako concentrated within, the less human one became. Cloud's eyes weren't the eyes of a human anymore. They were monstrous.

"That's true enough," Biggs agreed, causing Cloud to flinch. "You might even say those are the eyes of a living weapon. Of course, you know how I feel about weapons."

As Biggs leaned in to kiss him, Cloud knew he was out of his depth. He hesitated for long enough to feel Biggs' lips on his, and for the temptation of sturdy hips pinning him to the door, and then he lost his nerve and fumbled behind him, opening the door and spilling himself out onto the street. Biggs stumbled after him, and they both froze as an old woman and a younger man, who may or may not have been her son, both started and stared.

Clearing his throat, Biggs waved at them with a smile, and Cloud averted his eyes until they continued on their way. He waited until they were out of earshot before addressing the elephant on the street.

"I need time... To sort out my thoughts," he said. "I don't think I'm content to let this just be physical, like I'm used to. I think...I'd like more than that. With you."

Straightening up, Biggs attempted to prop himself against his front door, but there was no hinge to keep it from just swinging further open, and his pose was ruined. He sighed and ruffled his hair.

"Yeah, okay. I get that. And you're right. I should get some rest. People are counting on me to keep them safe, after all, but Cloud..." He reached out, catching Cloud's hand and holding it until their eyes met. "I reckon I'd like that, too. That...something more. So don't hurt yourself thinking too hard, okay? Life's short. Maybe even shorter than you. Heh. Better make the most of it."

Shrugging off the teasing insult, Cloud took the intention behind Biggs' words to heart. It hadn't really occurred to him that Biggs might not want the same thing, but it was a relief to hear that he did, none-the-less. Some sleep my do them both a lot of good. In the morning, he might not be so afraid to follow his heart.

"Tomorrow, when you get back from the mission... Come find me. I'll figure it out by then," he promised. He didn't offer any platitudes like "Stay safe." Those never made a difference.

With the smiling nod Biggs gave him burned into his memory, Cloud resolutely continued down the street on his original path. He felt oddly at peace, despite the decision that now rested on his shoulders.

*

"Oi, Cloud... Why are we sneaking around like this?"

"I don't want anyone to recognize me. I was supposed to be like you."

"You are like me. You just don't know it yet. One day, you'll see."

How strange. The one leading Cloud by the hand up to a bedroom int he creepy old Shinra manor was none other than Cloud himself. He remembered this midnight infiltration of his childhood haunt... He remembered it from both of his perspectives.

"Shhh. Keep talking and we'll get caught."

"Wouldn't that be a scandal," he teased, following his other half into the bedroom and gently closing the door behind them before turning and sweeping his lover into his arms for a deep, enthusiastic kiss.

The other Cloud gave in unexpectedly easily, melting against him and holding him tightly. It wasn't unexpected, though. He remembered he had been out of sorts all day and desperately longing for some time alone together to make all of the frustration go away, just for a little while. He remembered feeling anxious as he tried to avoid the eyes of those who knew him. He remembered feeling jealous as he recalled how Sephiroth had been eyeing his lover during the long truck ride to Nibelheim. Was it any wonder that he had welcomed his lover's kiss with open arms?

Somewhere, deep down, he knew that the paradox was impossible. He knew that something wasn't right. But that was the way of dreams, and wasn't this a dream? That voice had urged him to sleep and dream, and so he was. It wasn't the strangest dream he'd ever had.

As for the two halves of his soul trying to become one again, there in the old, stuffy bedroom filled with cans of apple juice... They were like night and day. One was sullen and withdrawn, grudging with his feelings, while the other was cheerful and optimistic, never holding back. The former felt more natural to him, but he was most comfortable in the perspective of the latter, as though that personality was his ideal self. As he slipped further and further toward the sullen Cloud who matched his mood best, he realized he had been spending a great deal of time in the perspective of that other Cloud, the one who seemed almost like another person entirely.

"You're the one thing that's kept me from losing it, ever since Angeal—"

"Shhh. Don't—"

"No. I need you to hear this. Angeal was everything to me. He taught me everything that matters to me as a SOLDIER. He mentored me and pushed me to my limits. I loved him for it. When he lost his way, it broke my heart... I know you look up to Sephiroth most, but—"

"I hate him. I hate Sephiroth."

"Cloud...?"

"Don't think I don't know what you two get up to when you're off on missions together with none of us third-rate troops hanging around to get in the way. I used to admire him. I used to want to be him. I still do... But I hate him. Can you blame me?"

"I'm sorry."

"Why? For loving him over me?"

"I adore you..."

"But you love him. Tell me I'm wrong... It's not just Angeal's betrayal that you're struggling with, is it? It's your feelings for Sephiroth, and his complete and total lack of humanity in return. You love him, and he uses you. It's too cruel."

"That's why I'm so grateful to have you in my life, Cloud. One day, I'll pass my legacy on to you, just as Angeal passed his on to me, along with his buster sword. You're more like me than you know. In a lot of ways... You are me."

"Enough. Someone will hear us and sound an alarm. I don't want to have to deal with my mother, or Tifa."

He didn't want to deal with anything more painful or complicated than stripping his lover down and riding himself to a fast, hard, shattering climax, constrained by the need for total silence. That was all the complication he had room for, all that he could handle.

He hissed out his pent up stress as warm lips suckled at his neck and soft hair tickled his skin. In the darkness, his counterpart may as well be made of midnight, with raven locks traveling down over his flesh on the way to kiss his stomach. Those mako-bright eyes glimmered up at him, though, as if commandeering all of the light in the room into their jeweled depths—eyes that he would give anything for, would kill for... Anyone but this man in whose arms he writhed.

As they moved quietly to the bed, Cloud's perspective shifted once more and he pressed himself down, seeking out the mako in the darkness, but he couldn't catch sight of that magical glimmer. Easing into his lover's body, he soothingly stroked a straining back, like an ivory trunk with golden leaves shifting to and fro as they moved together, perfectly in sync.

He was still innocent, was this Cloud. Still pure and untainted by years of experimental exposure to pure mako energy. He was beautiful, even when he was emotional and withdrawn, perhaps because of it. He felt things so deeply, did Cloud; rejection stung him more than most. That was why it was so important that he be the light for them both. For him, everything had gone the way he wanted. He got to meet his heroes and be trained and mentored by them. He made First Class. He was well on his way to earning hero status himself... Not everybody could have it so good. Not everybody got to achieve all their dreams. So he had to stay positive for both of them.

As he grunted into the sheets, Cloud's fingers curled into claws, channeling the energy he wanted to expend in a shout. This was what he needed—the powerful body of his lover, his own First Class SOLDIER, slowly but surely driving him to ecstasy with every slow-burning thrust.

Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, even as he tried to shun the emotion behind them. All that kept him from baring his soul and crying out the words he so desperately wanted to say was the fact that he could not risk being caught in the act and identified without his SOLDIER gear to hide his identity.

It was just as well. If he confessed his love, it would only hurt the more for the sympathy he received in return.

How could he love someone else when he couldn't even truly love himself?

*

Cloud gripped the handrail with all of his strength, brought to a halt as tears spilled uncontrolled down his face. Biggs' last words played over and over in his mind. That gentle hand on his hair, comforting him, while teasing words bridged the depth of sorrow opening up between them... 

He should have spent the night. He shouldn't have let his fears stop him. If he had... Would things have turned out differently? If he'd been with Biggs, would he have reached Jessie in time to prevent her getting hurt and spent the day in Secter 7, instead? If he hadn't been on the mission that got so heavily derailed, could he have reached Biggs sooner, and prevented this tragedy...?

All he knew for sure was that it had been a mistake even to consider opening up his heart and letting someone in. Every time that scene played before his eyes, it threatened to break him just that little bit more, until he was so broken, he would just fall apart.

Biggs had loved him. He had seen it in those big brown eyes, as clear as day. Biggs surely knew, too, that his dying here was going to crush Cloud. That was why he kept his words light, asking for favors instead of promising platitudes.

Who cared about a bunch of brats when one of the few good lights in this world was fading out? It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

Biggs was on the money, too. Cloud was a child. He wasn't capable of processing loss, or dealing with his emotions. All he could do was bury them down and swallow tar to seal them over, until his insides were solid pitch and he couldn't feel anymore.

As an act of rebellion, against himself, and against the cruelty of life itself, Cloud looked back over his shoulder at the man he was leaving behind and whispered the words he had too long left unsaid. "I loved you."

They lingered on the wind, and then dispersed, as if seeking out another time and place, to be heard by someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch. Yeah. Sorry. This was never gonna be a love story.
> 
> But hey. Maybe next time.


	5. One Man's Trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, Cloud and Leslie have a lot more in common than either of them expected, but Cloud remains haunted by his own personal demon. Will Leslie find a way to compete with those phantom memories?
> 
> Cloud/Leslie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's Leslie, to kiss away some of that pain...

It was demeaning to feel disappointed. Not jealous, per se, just...undervalued. After all the effort Cloud had gone to, after he had allowed himself to be treated like a doll and made to look feminine and pretty... He had begun to feel that way. Just a little. Just enough that he had thought he might actually be chosen.

He should be relieved. If anything, not being chosen by a man with such gaudy tastes as Don Corneo was a compliment. Hell, who would want to be dragged into that man's bedroom, even if they had no intention of...?

Except, he had intentions. Not of his own desire, of course, yet he had been ready to trade his body for the information they needed if he had to. He knew that neither Tifa nor Aerith would—or should—do the same. That was a relief in its own right. However, that meant that Tifa and Aerith were in greater danger now than Cloud would have been, even if they were together.

Maybe that was the worst part. Since Corneo had bent his own rule to select not one, but two women for the night, he could easily have just gone for three. Instead, he rejected only Cloud.

As he mulled over whether to barge in there or not, the door to the room to which Cloud had been escorted opened to reveal a familiar face that he wasn't entirely surprised to see, though he'd thought it would be one of the other lackeys who came to claim Corneo's trimmings. He knew his identity was no secret to this guy.

"I heard everything from Andrea," said the silver-haired man who had tried so hard to dissuade Cloud and Aerith from pursuing the audition. "I brought your gear."

"Our...?" Cloud's eyes widened in surprise as he spotted his sword. "Why?"

"I have my reasons."

The man proffered the handle of the weapon to prove he had no ill will.

''Thanks, uh..."

"Leslie. And you're Cloud, right? Man, you really did a number on Andrea."

Taking his sword and setting it aside, Cloud looked down at his skirts. He could rip off the hems, and then he'd be able to move, at least. If he...

"Don't," Leslie said, hurriedly. "I have your clothes, too... It would be a shame to ruin that dress when it suits you so."

"Corneo didn't seem to think so," Cloud muttered, already searching for the trick to removing the damn corset portion.

"Corneo's afraid to admit what he really wants," Leslie said quietly, moving to help Cloud with the finicky trappings. "Here. Let me."

Giving up, Cloud raised his arms and watched Leslie work. He seemed awfully familiar with such clothes.

"I dress up from time to time," he murmured, lifting the corset away from Cloud's form. "At first, I just wanted to wear a certain necklace, to feel closer to... Anyway, Andrea did what Andrea does, and the next thing I knew, skirts and corsets felt like a second skin. I could never carry off this style, though. I doubt many other guys could, to be honest."

As Leslie's hands slid around Cloud's hips to unhook the clasp of his skirt, Cloud's arms naturally settled about his helper's shoulders. Their eyes met, and Leslie paused. There was a moment of hesitation...and then their lips came together, the gloss painted on Cloud's a strange sensation when melded with a man's dry buds. Their bodies pressed closer and their tongues tangled briefly, Cloud feeling a flush spread through him before Leslie tilted his mouth out of reach.

"There really isn't time if you want to save those friends of yours," said the odd young lackey, a note of disappointment in his voice.

"They can save themselves," Cloud informed his unlikely ally. Nonetheless, he stepped away and unhooked the skirts himself, stepping out of them and reaching for his own clothes.

"Then you'll be done in no time," Leslie suggested. "And then... Maybe we can grab a drink together."

Cloud refrained from answering, wishing he was immune to the weight of Leslie's eyes on his bare back and willing his body not to respond. This wasn't the time. Tifa and Aerith may not need saving, but they could certainly do with some back up.

*

"There's something wrong with you," Leslie said quietly, staring into his bourbon rather than meeting Cloud's eyes. "The more I think about it, the more it confuses me. Why the hell did you kiss me?"

"You kissed me," Cloud grumbled back at him, gazing around at the slightly more tasteful decoration now that Leslie had taken up residence in Corneo's former manor.

Leslie scoffed. "Maybe, but the two scenarios aren't mutually exclusive. Aren't you supposed to be off, chasing after that girl of yours who got carried off by those damn Turks? She's really important to you, right? Why are you here?"

"I'm...not like you," Cloud responded, thinking of Aerith, and how he felt, and then how passionate Leslie had been about the woman he'd lost at Don Corneo's hands. "I don't have feelings that strong."

"Do you have any at all?" Leslie asked. His tone held enough weight that Cloud could tell he didn't mean to be cruel. It was a genuine question.

Of course he did. He'd...cared for Biggs, and... And then there was... A tiny shudder threatened as another face framed by silver hair intruded on his thoughts. He shrugged it off, trying not to see the similarities. They were superficial, anyway. Leslie had none of the ethereal beauty of that other man.

"I'm here, aren't I?" he pressed.

Leslie studied him closely, then stood and approached him, cupping his face between both hands. Looming over him like that, the sadness in Leslie's eyes was a heavy weight.

"But there is something wrong with you," Leslie told him. "Something flat, something missing. I know that feeling. That's how I feel now that she's gone."

"Is that why you kissed me?" Cloud asked, hoping it meant he would do so again.

"Partly. And you? Why did you kiss me?"

Tilting his head to better feel Leslie's palm against his cheek, Cloud confessed the truth. "You remind me of someone."

Dropping his hands, Leslie straightened a little, assessing. "Why not kiss him, then? It is, isn't it? A him?"

Cloud shook his head, but he wasn't denying the question of gender. "He's dangerous for me. He's...dangerous for anyone. Everyone. Sometimes, it feels like if I don't resist him, I'll be turning my back on the rest of the world."

"I didn't figure you for the dramatic type," Leslie commented, his eyes riveted to Cloud's. "I guess I should have done when you showed up in that dress, with Andrea's stamp of approval in every detail."

"Are you close?" Cloud asked, taking Leslie's hand from his face and tugging the man down onto his lap. "With Andrea?"

"I suppose you could say that," Leslie told him. "He's pretty much all I've got, now."

"And this mansion," Cloud scoffed. It was nothing to sneeze at.

"Just between you and me?" Leaning in so that his lips grazed Cloud's ear, Leslie murmured, "I'm thinking of burning the whole ugly place to the ground."

Touching his fingers to Leslie's neck and tracing downward, his eyes following, Cloud imagined the man "dressed up" as he called it. Obviously, there was a lot more to Leslie Kyle than Cloud had so far discovered. Did he care to learn more?

He halted thought on that issue when a pair of soft lips captured his own, distracting him with warmth and the tingling comfort of bodily contact. As the kiss deepened, he began to knead the slight round of Leslie's hip, and once again he thought of how it might adapt to a corset. A long wig, a dark, draping outer garment with silver buckles...

"No," Cloud gasped, tearing his mouth from Leslie's and trying to unsee the coalescing fantasy.

"Cloud?" Leslie sounded concerned. "If I'm crossing a line here, just tell me..."

Cloud shook his head, embarrassed and unable to meet the other man's eyes. He knew the green of the mako in his own would be all too radiant.

"I was imagining you dressed up...but it got out of hand," he finished in a whisper. Why was he so inclined to honesty with this man? Was it that blunt personality that drew the truth out of him with so little prompting? He just kept speaking his mind like it was the most natural thing. "I just...keep seeing..."

"This guy I remind you of?" Leslie finished. He then let out a brief chuckle. "I promise you, when Andrea's done with me, I don't look like any man you've ever seen."

Climbing out of Cloud's lap, Leslie rummaged around in his jacket pocket, and then waved a polaroid photo in Cloud's face. Taking it, Cloud found the turmoil in his mind quelled by a kind of peaceful appreciation. In the photograph, Leslie wore a black corset with ties crisscrossing up the front and red lace shoulder straps that wove into a collar around his neck. His lower body was showered with more red lace that barely hid shapely thighs, black garters drawing the eye. His styled hair was curled into soft waves about his cheeks, and his expression was playfully stern as he brandished a riding crop at the camera, the dark shading around his eyes and full red lips accentuating every minutia of expression. Frankly, he looked stunning. 

It was so strange. Cloud would never be attracted to a woman who looked like that...but when he knew that the woman in that picture was a man... The strength and solidity behind that graceful demeanor...

Cloud's eyes traveled up from the picture to the body of the man standing in front of him, shrugging off his leather jacket and posing with his hands on his hips like in the picture. 

"Well?" Leslie prompted. "Still see the resemblance?"

Cloud's face felt strange for a moment, before he realized he was smiling—just a natural, lip-tugging smile. The next thing he knew, he was laughing.

"I thought I was the queen of the world," he said. "All dolled up... I had nothing on you."

He neglected to mention that the unnamed man with whom Leslie shared some common features would probably outdo them both given an iota of the talent in Andrea's right pinky, but his heart felt lighter, and he was able to shrug that man aside and surge to his feet, sweeping his arms about Leslie and holding him a willing captive.

"Thank you," he said, sincerely. "For showing me something so private."

Leslie looked uncomfortable for a moment, as though he hadn't expected Cloud to understand the significance, but he settled on a soft smile and slipped the polaroid from Cloud's fingers, dropping it on top of his jacket.

Bringing his thumb to Cloud's lips, he traced them and said, "You were pretty enough... But this look suits you better. There's no need to hide yourself behind make up. That's not who you really are."

Who was he, really, though? Those words felt hollow to him, because he didn't know the answer. He appreciated the sentiment, though. Whoever he was, he wasn't meant to be buried under layers of make-up or fancy frippery. He wasn't meant to change his appearance to suit other mens' fancies. He wasn't made to bend to the bidding of others. He just stumbled forward, step by step, on his own, unbeaten path.

"What if you're right?" Cloud asked, his lips grazing Leslie's thumb as he spoke. He tilted his neck, letting that digit press against his cheek, rubbing softly. "What if there is something wrong with me, with who I really am?"

"Then you fix it," Leslie said, simply. "You find it, and you face it, and you make it right."

"Is that what you're doing with Andrea?" Cloud asked, frowning as he tried to imagine where he might begin.

Leslie shook his head. "What's wrong with me can't be fixed. A part of me is gone, and she's never coming back...so I try to fill the empty space."

It was strange how familiar that statement felt, but Cloud couldn't imagine why. He'd never been through anything like Leslie had in losing his fiancee. Even Biggs' death wasn't so devastating that Cloud couldn't move on. He decided not to comment, because he didn't really have any right.

"I hope you'll find what you're looking for, Leslie."

"What I'm looking for right now...?" The melancholy overtones melted away in a quirk of thin, rosy lips. "Is a whole different kind of fulfillment, if you're up for it."

Cloud responded with one dry huff of laughter. "I think that could be arranged."

Without pretext, Leslie started pulling off clothes, so Cloud followed suit, feeling strangely exposed without his turtleneck. He wasn't often shirtless in front of others, let alone naked. Leslie didn't let him get that far, anyway. He'd just begun removing his pants when he was tipped by a little shove into the chair at his back. Climbing back onto his lap, Leslie smirked down at him and ground his bare balls against Cloud's briefs.

"Can we just skip the foreplay?" Leslie suggested, reaching down to massage Cloud through the tight, thin material. "Something tells me it's not really your thing, either."

Cloud didn't see why not. Leslie's straightforward advances were making him hornier than any amount of kissing or touching. There was something to be said for sheer pursuit of gratification.

In response, he shimmied his briefs down his thighs, somewhat trapped by the pants bunched above his knees. It didn't matter. Leslie slid over his lap, arousal pressing into his belly, and pushed back against his erection.

"You okay like that?" Cloud asked, furrowing his brows in concern. He didn't think Leslie was that much of a power bottom, but then again, who knew what he got up to with Andrea.

Reaching behind himself to hand-deliver Cloud's hard-on to where he wanted it, he leaned in and muttered, "Cure me later," pressing his face into Cloud's shoulder even as he pressed his body down to be impaled.

His moan didn't sound entirely pleasurable, but he was entirely in control, so Cloud sat back and let him adjust as needed. Leslie's ass was tight, and clung hungrily to every inch of him. He was better off staying very still for a little while, anyway, or he might just blow his load way too soon.

"Damn, Cloud... Is that sword of yours a life sized replica?" he groaned.

"Hardly," Cloud scoffed.

"Could be worse," Leslie moaned, arching and wriggling, so that another inch or two found its way home. "Could be Sephiroth's famous masamune!"

The image was so ridiculous that Cloud let out an unguarded chuckle but he quickly pushed all thought of Sephiroth aside. Leslie, however, suddenly stilled, his eyes narrowing. It was clear that he at least suspected he had figured out Cloud's secret crush. Of course, as far as he knew, Sephiroth was long gone. Those specters and ghouls that bore his face trailed only in Cloud's wake, hounding him until he was plagued with unsatiated want at all times.

It was Leslie's fault for bringing up Sephiroth. He could hardly blame Cloud for the firm grip around his shoulders or the hard thrust that filled him in one, easy motion, at the risk of splitting him open. Howling, Leslie clawed at Cloud's arms, burying his face and gnawing at the bare skin of Cloud's throat.

Gasping for breath as though he'd been splashed with water, Cloud froze, trying to keep his hold as gentle and unassuming as possible. He waited, but Leslie didn't recover right away.

"Sorry," Cloud breathed. "That was..." Stupid? Cruel? Uncalled for? He didn't know how Leslie wanted him to finish that sentence.

Blindly, Leslie reached for something behind Cloud, fumbling around. He pressed it into Cloud's hand.

It was materia. Regen. Obligingly, Cloud cast the spell, and Leslie's body relaxed a little with a complementary sigh of relief.

"Well?" he promoted. "You plan on finishing what you started? Or do you wanna talk about why the slightest mention of a long-dead hero-turned-war criminal turns you into a raw brute?"

Clenching his teeth, Cloud selected the former option and rolled his hips, though this time, he was careful not to be too rough about it. He circled a little, giving Leslie some time to adjust to the feel of him and to make some leeway, before he began to rock in earnest, sliding within the confines of Leslie's body and giving them both something else to focus on.

Cloud had to admit he liked Leslie. It was nice to be with someone so straightforward, who said exactly what he meant and did exactly what he wanted. They had good chemistry, too. With one arm wound about Leslie's waist, now that there was some traction, they were moving together expertly, Cloud driving up into Leslie as the man rolled his hips to guide each thrust right where he wanted it.

No longer hiding in his neck, Leslie was sitting up straight, looking down at Cloud and gasping through parted lips Cloud could easily imagine painted like in that picture. Such a thick, plump lower lip... He longed to sink his teeth into it...

He got his chance when Leslie leaned over him for a kiss, and he tested the waters, lightly drawing his teeth over that lip like one might suck fruit from its skin. The moan that shuddered over him invited him to do it again, and this time bite down a little harder. Leslie's hips jerked, and he gripped Cloud's shoulders tightly. It was becoming all too clear that he had a streak of the masochist in him.

With the regen still in effect, Cloud tested out his theory by reaching up and pinching his nipples, then clawing his nails down Leslie's hip. Each action was met by a cry and a shudder that left no illusions as to just how perverted Leslie really was.

"We all have our vices," Leslie gasped, meeting Cloud's eyes even as he panted and wiped away a sheen of sweat from his cheek. "Sometimes they're perversions, and sometimes they're people... Sometimes... They're both."

Damn him. Damn him for going right for the throat.

Tripling the velocity of his thrusting hips, Cloud reached up to bite hard at the skin covering Leslie's collar bone, holding on relentlessly with his teeth as he drove the man to an unforgiving climax. The agony of pleasure that shuddered through Leslie's body went straight to Cloud's balls and tore an orgasm from him in a chain reaction that left them both breathless.

Drenched in sweat, trembling from the weakness in his limbs after a multitude of contractions had wracked him, Cloud marveled at how soon Leslie seemed to regain his composure. Belatedly, he remembered the spell that was continually restoring Leslie's strength and well-being in gradual waves.

Consoled, he let the lethargy take him, sinking into the deep cushions of the armchair and gazing languidly up at the man who was as cunning as he was ruthless. Cloud was no longer sure he could claim to like Leslie Kyle. He certainly wasn't going to fall for this man like he had done another straightforward tyrant here in the slums... But he respected Leslie, and that meant almost as much.

"Nicely done, SOLDIER boy," Leslie said dryly, patting him on the thigh and gingerly getting to his feet.

"Former SOLDIER," Cloud corrected, rubbing his soiled crotch, and drawing his hand away smeared with blood. "You...okay?" he asked.

"All good!" Leslie insisted. "Already feeling good as new." He winked. "Next time, I might just pay you back," he teased. "As long as you're willing to get on your knees for a real queen."

Cloud thought of the powerful character in the polaroid and felt a flutter in his belly as he considered.

"I wouldn't mind paying a visit to the Honey Bee with you after we free Aerith," he said, a little wistfully.

Promises were all lies until they were kept. SOLDIERs knew better than to put too much stock in them.

"There'll always be a place for you here in Wall Market," Leslie told him. "You're one of ours now, no matter what happens up there... No matter what's wrong with you. We're all a little broken, down here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now that we've made it this far, you're probably wondering who's up next. Let's just say the next chapter might be a little less Cloud-centric, and more Shinra-heavy.


	6. Turkish Delights on Dark Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not always easy being a Turk. Some struggle with all they are ordered to do in the name of Shinra, others deny themselves happiness. Rufus, though... Rufus always gets what he wants.
> 
> Tseng/Reno  
> Rufus/Rude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this escalated fast... Be warned. Shit gets kinky in the latter portion of this chapter.

"Heya Boss. Sending me off to hunt for that terrorist scum, then?"

Just another day at Shinra. Just another big bottle of koolaid to gulp down.

"Hardly," Tseng scoffed. "Clearly, you're no match for this mystery man. AVALANCHE will be coming to us soon enough, anyway. We have someone they want."

"Aerith, you mean... And what do you mean, I'm no match for him? We pulled off the mission, didn't we? We dropped that damn plate like a house on a witch. Heh. Go team, am I right?"

"Enough. Don't think I can't detect the criticism in your tone," Tseng scolded, his eyes narrowing.

"What criticism?" Reno snapped. "I did everything you ordered. I made damn sure that plate dropped, no matter what! No matter who would plummet to their deaths! No matter who it would smash down below! No matter who stood in my way! No matter if I had to manipulate Rude into pulling the proverbial trigger! No matter if it might have killed me! So don't talk to me about my fucking tone, Tseng!" Reno winced in pain, only cutting off his tirade because he was too wounded to keep it up.

Overlooking the outburst in light of the truth of it, and the burden obviously weighing heavily on Reno at present, Tseng beckoned the Turk closer. Leaning back to show that he, at least, remained calm and intended to listen, he pressed on with the topic of this meeting.

"Tell me about the man who beat you. He was the one who facilitated Aerith's escape back at the church, no?"

Huffing out a deep breath to calm himself, Reno nodded. "Same guy. Wears a SOLDIER uniform, and First Class, at that. And he carries that big-ass sword Angeal used to lug about all the time."

Tseng's eyes widened. "The buster sword he entrusted to Zack?"

"Zack...? Oh, yeah. I guess so."

Reno frowned. He'd forgotten about that. Zack had been the last known owner of that sword. But Zack was grave-dirt. No way he'd made it back to Midgar. Witnesses swore he'd carked it after cutting down the last of the whole damn army Shinra'd sent after him.

"He wasn't alone on that battlefield. There was another man with him, a blond, like the man I saw atop the pillar with you."

"Ring any bells?"

"Perhaps."

"What of this man's eyes? I couldn't make them out. Without the telltale glow of mako, he can only be an impostor of a SOLDIER."

"Oh, he's got the eyes all right, like turquoise glimmering under a lake surface. Prettiest eyes you've ever seen. Funny, though... I'm sure he didn't recognize me at first, but little by little he got this look in his eyes, like he knew me... He almost started reading my actions as if he really did know something... Rude said it felt the same with him."

"Perhaps, once he heard your name, he was able associate the rumor with the legend," Tseng spoke dryly, though he still sounded utterly serious.

Ignoring the jab, Reno frowned in silence. Was he so well-known that someone who had heard tell of him, someone with the abilities of a SOLDIER...could use that knowledge to predict his actions? Maybe, but it didn't quite fit right. The whole mystery of this guy being a SOLDIER, First Class, who none of the Turks recognized, indicated that there was much more going on. More of Hojo's experiments? Or Hollanders, come back to bite them in the ass...? Was this SOLDIER another by-product of project S or G? If so, Shinra was in for a shit-fight. There were no more 1-C SOLDIERS to fight back.

"Reno..." Tseng's tone had returned to solemnity, and he waited for Reno to ditch the derailed train of thought and meet his gaze. "Shinra does not yield to terrorists, no matter what it takes to defeat them. You understand this..."

Clicking his tongue, Reno looked away, rubbing at one of many physical aches to mask the mental. Tseng was changing the subject again, and right back to where they had started. Frankly, it was the last thing Reno wanted to think about. He didn't want to deal with the complicated ethics and the philosophy he couldn't help but feel was stacked against him.

That old cliche about detouring a train to kill the one instead of the many, or whatever... In this case, he'd personally cleared the way for Rude to pull the lever that detoured a train to kill the many just to mow down a select few among them. His mission had been to slaughter the innocents of Sector 7 in order to stamp out a handful of those AVALANCHE rats and pin the blame on them to boot, and yet, the ones who were personally responsible for the reactor bombings hadn't even been down there! They were up on the pillar, fighting Reno and Rude...and they damn well won! What had it all been for? What had Reno steeled his heart for? What had he bound it in chains for? To frame them? They should be dead, like all those innocent people!

Tseng's voice sounded at Reno's ear, and only then did he realize that he was completely blinded by tears. He vaguely understood that he had collapsed to his knees, and was falling apart right there in Tseng's office, crying like a wounded child.

"What's done is done."

Rather than scolding him, Tseng said only those four words of comfort as he held Reno in a firm, yet gentle embrace. The soothing stroke of his hand over the back of Reno's skull was surprisingly soothing, yet also more strategic than maternal. That was exactly why it made Reno feel safe, and slowly, laboriously regain his senses. He was safe here with Tseng—safe from judgement, from punishment, and from retribution. Not only did Tseng understand, but as his commander officer, Tseng shared in his sin. Some might say it was Tseng who was responsible, that Reno's hands were clean...but he knew better. They would never be clean again. He had done many, many dark things in the name of Shinra, but this would forever be the condemning moment for his soul. There was no going back now. What was done...was done.

"Where did we go wrong, Boss?" he whispered, his tears finally beginning to run dry. "Doing Shinra's dirty work is one thing. Murdering all those people..."

"Most of the slum inhabitants escaped the drop zone," Tseng offered, kindly, now that Reno was prepared to hear it. "I saw them, myself, making for safety like scurrying rats. I made sure their maze didn't have any dead ends."

Reno could imagine how frightening it must be for a denizen of the slums to find a Turk helicopter on their tail, complete with a spray of bullets sending chunks of rubble flying. No doubt, Tseng wouldn't be thanked for his benevolence or hailed as a hero.

"Thank you," Reno whispered, hesitantly wrapping his arms about Tseng's body in return and letting his forehead rest against a strong shoulder lined with silken black hair. There wasn't much hope for those who had dwelled above, but if just one less innocent had been crushed under the chunks of death raining down by his and Rude's hands... "I couldn't do this job without you as my commander."

"You can," Tseng asserted. "You would." His hand left Reno's head, and the back of his fingers brushed down one tear-soaked cheek. "You're strong, and more determined than anyone I've ever met." He sat back, forcing Reno to raise his face and look up into deep, dark eyes that held their ground. "I am not proud of what we have done...but I am proud of you—for carrying out your duty, and for lamenting it thus. It is not easy to be both a good soldier and a good man, Reno. You bear the burden well."

"Boss...!" The emotion that welled up in Reno with those words was not purely gratitude, pride, relief, or any other of the logical responses he was inclined to, but rather, was accompanied by something akin to admiration, something he'd never recognized in himself before... Perhaps that was why he flung off a fresh wave of tears by surging forward and sealing his lips to Tseng's in what he belatedly realized was very clearly a kiss.

Even as their mouths remained bound, a deep chuckle sounded in Tseng's throat, but it wasn't cynical or ironic, it was just appreciative. That sound echoed through Reno's bones until his body sagged with relief that he wasn't to be outright reprimanded or rejected. As soon as he relaxed, Tseng's lips shifted against his, and the loose hold around his body tightened, the fingers on his cheek altering from comforting to engaging. Without query, Reno's lips parted to Tseng's tongue and he let his head be tilted back, allowing Tseng to overcome his defenses without resistance.

*

It wasn't as if Tseng was oblivious to his weaknesses. He had spent years coaching himself for the eventuality that he could no longer curb his affections and made an ill-advised move on the red-haired siren under his command. He had planned for the worst, largely expecting Reno to take his advance badly, but he had always held in reserve a scenario in which Reno didn't immediately turn him away. Funnily enough, that had never included the prospect of taking advantage of a Reno so stricken with guilt and anguish that he broke down sobbing.

Even as he savored the willing luxury of Reno's lips, alarm bells clamored in his head, advising panic. As he always did, whether in the heat of battle or the cold calculation of a corporate meeting, he ignored the alarms, focusing on his primary objective. In this case, that was soothing Reno's tortured conscience.

For whatever reason, Reno had kissed him, and that indicated that this was something he needed. His heart was in turmoil and he sought something in Tseng to quell it.

Pulling out of the reach of Reno's hungry lips, Tseng stared resolutely into those excruciatingly lovely eyes. He almost faltered in his next words, but he knew they were crucial to maintaining the balance. Reno was his subordinate. He must never show favor, and Reno must never know of his true feelings.

"I'm not above offering comfort to a comrade in need," Tseng declared, carefully schooling his expression to hide the enthusiasm and passion that threatened to show. "Just this once."

He leaned in to seal the deal with another kiss, but Reno dodged, craning his neck back and warily searching Tseng's eyes. He had incredible instincts sometimes, like an animal evolved for survival. Like one of those clever canines Hojo was studying.

"You sure?" Reno queried. "I'm not gonna get punished later for seducing my CI or whatever?"

It was adorable. Tseng couldn't help the full-throated laugh that burst out of him. "This is your idea of seduction?" he scoffed. "Crying uncontrollably and then kissing me out of nowhere? That won't do. I'll have to show you how it's done."

Grasping the back of Reno's neck, Tseng took the redhead's lips rather more forcefully than even he expected, his tongue swooping in to engage his subordinate's with all the authority he was accustomed to commanding. Let there be no confusion, no question of romance or seduction... Just an understanding.

As he slid his hand over Reno's customarily bared chest and underneath his shirt, he chuckled and broke for breath. "Remind me to discipline you until you figure out how buttons work."

"I got this, Boss," Reno breathed, setting to work on Tseng's meticulously buttoned suit jacket.

He moaned the moment Tseng's fingers grazed his nipple, which only made Tseng keep his touch light and teasing, because it was fascinating to experiment with that unprecedented level of sensitivity. Rufus... Tseng's lover had decided that the age of consent was however old he was when he pressured Tseng into consenting, and there had been little innocence lost there. The young heir had made Tseng work for his pleasure, and that was irresistible in its own way, but this... Reno's sensitivity combined with his experienced outward appearance played havoc with the portion of Tseng's brain that defined "erotic".

He let Reno shed his jacket, before bending down to lick that same, hardened nipple, pulling the fabric of Reno's barely concealing clothing aside as he stretched out his tongue and then blew lightly on the moistened bud. Unthreading and casting off his tie, he continued licking and tasting that portion of Reno's chest before taking the nipple lightly between his teeth and pulling. The sounds Reno made all the while...

There was a hand creeping up under Tseng's shirt, caressing his lower back as Reno leaned toward the ground, his head thrown back and his cheeks stained with a blush almost as red as his tattoos. Unable to help himself, Tseng surged up to kiss Reno again, his thumb tracing one red marking, which he then swiped his tongue over.

"Fuck... You're not even this kinky in my imagination," Reno gasped, causing a stir of elation in Tseng's belly.

Reno fantasized about him.

Pushing Reno down to the ground, Tseng loomed over him, smirking. He was mindful of Reno's injuries, but clearly they were negligible if the wild child of the Turks was well enough to be this horny. Tseng's fingers traced an exploratory path down past the few shirt buttons that were secured, all the way to the belt that stood between him and the lump rising steadily in Reno's pants. He grasped that belt and tugged, urging Reno's entire upper body to drift closer to him from that one point of contact.

"Just because I work hard, doesn't mean I don't know how to have fun," Tseng breathed, easing his hand down to caress and cup Reno's bulge. "I can play hard, too."

The sudden, unexpected softness in Reno's eyes took Tseng by surprise, and his confidence faltered. He paused.

"Guess I'm not the only one with damage to work off," Reno said softly, his hand on Tseng's back flattening out in a comforting press. A moment later, he flopped all the way to the ground and let his arms fall open to either side. "I'm all yours, Boss," he offered "Go nuts."

With a growl, Tseng jerked the leather through the clasp of Reno's belt and pulled the whole thing off in one fluid motion. He flung it away like the snake that coiled within him, eager to strike at the opportune moment. His eyes trained unblinkingly upon Reno's, he lowered himself down to the man's crotch and eased the zipper down to reveal a naked hardness that bobbed up to greet him. Trust Reno to go commando without thought for the practicality of it in a fight...

Still holding Reno's gaze, he tugged down the sharp suit pants that were wasted on this sloppily-dressed lout and placed his lips at the base of that eager erection, sucking lightly. Instead of centering his attentions on the appendage upon which all of Reno's senses were focused—one that would certainly erupt all too soon if he wasn't careful—he traveled downward, helping Reno to kick his trousers off completely as he lifted shapely thighs to reveal that part upon which his own thoughts were focused. Closing his eyes, he began lapping and circling with his tongue, gradually working it inside to spear in and out of Reno's hole, preparing the way for a much larger polearm.

All the while, Reno was swearing in a flattering combination of disbelief and pleasure, his voice music to Tseng's ears, but that music was building to a crescendo. Tseng couldn't wait any longer. Dragging himself up the length of Reno's body, he teased trembling lips with the promise of a kiss while fumbling with his own belt, one-handed. Reno quickly reached down to help, and soon they were joined, Tseng thrusting eagerly into Reno's body even as they kissed hungrily. His hair fell about them both, blocking out light, and making it seem as though they were sheltered in their own little world, and not fucking unceremoniously on the floor of his office in the company building.

*

If he couldn't see the evidence of it writhing about between his thighs, Reno would never have believed it could happen. Tseng... Stick up his ass, straight-laced...gorgeous...Tseng...was eating his ass like a freakin' champ. It was potentially the hottest thing Reno had ever experienced in his life. In fact, the whole thing was so unreal, and so fucking hot, he'd been reacting like a virgin in heat from the moment Tseng started touching him.

He'd always thought Tseng was oblivious to what went on among other members of the organization, like Reno's long-term dalliance with Rude, the frequent affairs nobody ever talked about with Rufus Shinra, Elena's occasional threesome parties... He'd honestly thought Tseng didn't know what balls were or what purpose they might possibly serve...but it turned out he had a sex drive, after all. He was no blushing virgin, that was for sure. He also wasn't nearly as straight-laced and boring as Reno had imagined.

Not that Tseng hadn't always been sexy. Damn, Reno had been jacking off over Tseng since the first time he saw that hair come out of it's high ponytail. He just figured Tseng was completely oblivious to his own sensuality. For better or for worse, that illusion was now blown clear out of the water.

Come to mention it, Reno felt like he was about to blow. He'd never been so hard without direct stimulus to his cock as he was now. The feel of Tseng's tongue, moving within him, of lips pressing and sliding, of teeth grazing... It was driving him mad. The only ward he had against an embarrassing end to this little exercise was to keep up a stream of profanity that gave him something else to focus on, like finding new and creative words to describe Tseng's tongue and the effect it was having on him.

Finally, Tseng gave him a moment of relief, halting his efforts and re-positioning himself to take things a step further. He settled over Reno and his body was a comforting weight that temporarily stilled the fire raging in Reno's loins. Maybe this wasn't emotional for Tseng, maybe it really was just comfort or a way to blow off steam for one or both of them, but...it didn't feel that way. There was an intensity to his touch, and a power in his kisses that made Reno swell with undefinable emotion. His eyes were glued to Tseng's lips, hovering just above his own, but they wouldn't reach for his, and then Tseng started working to free himself, and Reno understood. He wouldn't have his kiss until Tseng was poised to take him.

He couldn't wait. He needed that kiss. So he hurried things along, roughly tugging Tseng's belt free and tearing his trousers open, pulling them down just far enough that Tseng could maneuver, harboring his loins between Reno's thighs. Still, his lips held their distance, and Reno had no choice but to urge him on, digging his nails into a slim buttocks. That did the trick. Entering him in one smooth swoop, Tseng distracted him with a kiss that stole his breath completely, ravishing his mouth while his body fought to process the swelling, tingling ache that spread within him.

He threaded his fingers through silken hair, reveling in the unexpected sensation of it. He could grow obsessed with that hair... The way it brushed over his skin with every motion of Tseng's finely muscled physique...

Reno shivered in pure delight, his senses pushed to the max, even as he tried to fathom who this man was. For years, he had known Tseng, but now it seemed as if he barely knew the man at all. His commander. His boss. His undiscovered wet dream.

*

Tseng's hips worked furiously, his arms and torso straining as he fought the pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him. Reno was exquisite, and their bodies were in complete accord. A light sheen of sweat covered them both as they moved together. Every time Tseng broke for air, he naturally sought Reno's lips again, drowning in each sweet kiss even as his body exhausted his oxygen supply with its imperative motion.

Whenever their lips weren't otherwise occupied, Reno gasped and moaned, muttering encouragement and begging, but always with that word that defined their roles beyond question. "Boss. Boss... Boss!"

"You know my name," Tseng growled, driving in hard and pausing with his balls squished right up against Reno's ass. He was trembling, and holding his already labored breath, desperate to hear it just once.

Reno's fingers clawed at his thighs, his hips, his backside, begging without words. Finally, he groaned, "Tseng!" and they both got what they wanted. Tseng drove them to unanimous completion on a wave of pure adrenaline. The groan that spilled from him as he spent himself in Reno substituted for the words he kept pent up inside of him, but he thought them over and over as he lay, face-down in Reno's neck, panting for air. He'd sweated right through his shirt and it was cooling on his back, causing him to shiver, but Reno's warmth beneath him was worth it for as long as it lasted.

*

Having completed his business and ready to retire for the night, Rufus sat back with a glass of rum and stared tiredly at the screen of his portable console. He had reason to believe he would soon be returning to Midgar, and he looked forward to enjoying the perks of his close history with the Turks. If anyone appreciated the stress that he lived with, it was they. He'd heard a report from Tseng earlier about the successful completion of Heidegger's plate drop initiative. It had been a dispassionate recount, commending the combined efforts of Rude and Reno, the latter of whom Tseng had reportedly been...forced...to console. The deed had been completed by Rude. What went unsaid was that it could not have been any easier on him.

Deciding that it was time to relax and turn his mind to other pursuits, Rufus reached for the control panel of his console, intending to cut the power. As he did, a video call came through, the screen black and the sound completely muted.

"I am alone. You may show yourself," Rufus instructed.

The moment the image burst to life before him, his breath hitched and his libido clamored for attention. This was precisely his style. Yet what he was supposed to do about it over video was anybody's guess.

"Rude," he greeted, hungrily drinking in the sight of the stoic Turk, bound and exposed. "I heard all about your accomplishment from your commander." The term informed the Turk that Rufus was praising him as the vice president of Shinra, not as a sympathetic lover. "Tseng also hinted that you might need a little comfort...but I needn't coddle you, now, eh?"

Making use of a customized chair presented to Rufus by Hojo, Rude's legs were clipped into manacles to either side of his head, his wrists secured by a leather belt he had likely pulled tight with his teeth, and his naked ass was fully exposed to the camera's view. He wore only his usual shades, and his expression was relentlessly blank, even with a ball-gag wedged in his mouth.

Breathtaking.

Rude's bound hands slipped from the keyboard, lying dormant in his lap for now. His breath was a little ragged around the gag, and he seemed to be half-hard already, just from the set-up. Rufus let his eyes roam, appreciating the view.

There was a lot to appreciate: that toned torso, like a solid wall of layered muscle; those powerful thighs, a perfection of chiseled strength... Then there was the focal point that beckoned Rufus' gaze like the bull's eye of a target. With every intake and exhalation of breath, Rude's anus expanded and contracted, just begging Rufus to reach through  
the screen and fondle it.

Before he knew it, Rufus had been staring in silence for so long that his cock was a lump of steel, unapologetically marring the contour of his tailor-made trousers.

"It seems you beg punishment," he eventually murmured. "But I'm very pleased with you, Rude. You carried out your duty without being swayed by pity or compassion. I could not ask for greater proof of your loyalty."

For a moment, Rude strained against the gag, and Rufus surmised there was some transgression that gnawed at him in regards to that statement. Whatever it was, Rufus would have it out of him later. For now, Rude was silenced, and he would simply have to accept the commendation.

Well aware that his body was not the honed masterpiece that Rude's was, Rufus also knew that his sleek, more delicate form was Rude's guilty pleasure. He stood, ensuring he was still in the camera frame, and began leisurely removing his layered clothing, revealing himself little by little.

There were scars about his frame that the denizen's of Midgar would never imagine could be born by their shining, Shinra prince. Most were testament to his early failures in training the vicious beasts he kept as pets, but not all. There were other scars with other tales, all hidden by the meticulous covering of the clothing he favored.

Whether Rude's eyes gleamed with lust or pity remained a mystery under those dark shades. Indeed, they may be as blank and unfeeling as one of Rufus' beasts...though he supposed not. Today, Rude was feeling the weight of his sins. Today, he was not a beast, tamed or otherwise. He was but a man.

Undressed, Rufus resumed his seat before the camera, studying all the telltale signs of Rude's heightened arousal. He smiled, tracing his fingers over his own lips, letting his jaw hang and his tongue flick over the tips. His other hand gripping the arm of the chair in a subtle tell of his own escalating sexual craving, he began licking his index finger, thoroughly coating it in saliva with every pass of his tongue. Then, he sucked both index and middle fingers into his mouth, applying such pressure that his cheeks briefly hollowed out.

With a wet pop, he drew his fingers from his mouth and immediately transferred them to his nether regions, stroking and slicking until he felt comfortable sliding the tip of his middle finger inside. He slid further down in the seat, spreading his thighs wider and tilting his hips to be sure his actions could be seen. As he worked his finger in all the way past the second knuckle, his free hand scratched and clawed at his thigh, his body twisting and arching for better access.

With his middle finger effectively buried within him, he liked to think Rude could imagine the digit covertly flipping him off in there. It was an amusing concept that made him hum with a deep laugh that never quite reached fruition.

On the other end of the video call, Rude was wriggling in his seat, rubbing his fully erect cock against his bound hands. There was a dribble of drool forming as he swallowed around the ball stifling his tongue.

"What a perverse creature you are," Rufus murmured, corkscrewing his fingers in and out as he spoke breathlessly. "And what a sight... Can you see yourself, I wonder? Do you have a window of your own camera showing you just how depraved you look? Hmm?"

Eventually, Rude tipped his head down and then lifted it in one slow nod, and Rufus' breath came a little faster at the knowledge. He stilled his hand, wriggling his index finger against his entrance and worming it in along with his middle finger. It was a tight fit, particularly without proper lubrication, and he couldn't get much traction, so he began crooking his fingers against his inner walls, escalating his arousal from within with long, targeted strokes. He groaned, long and loud, bringing his other hand to dangle between his legs, his forearm resting along the length of his aching cock.

Rude's chin tilted down slightly, and though he could not see the eyes concealed behind those dark shades, Rufus knew they were staring intently at that which lay disregarded, bobbing occasionally of its own will against Rufus' pelvic bone. He lazily drew his free hand upward, caressing his hardness with just one finger in a slow, torturous swipe that culminated in a cruel circling about the tip that caused a warm glow of almost painful pleasure in him.

"Wish it was you I was touching?" he asked, his voice deep and gruff, almost unrecognizable. "Wish my tongue was on your flesh?" He forced his two fingers deeper, reaching for and just barely grazing that part of him that could make sparks fly. "Wish you could do more than just hump your hands like a crazed animal?" he growled, fixated as Rude did exactly that.

Panting, Rude stilled. He dragged his tied hands upward and then slid them under and cupped them about his length, interlocking his fingers. He began to rub awkwardly, using his hips to drive friction, though the angle of his body and binding of his legs made that difficult. He was using every sculpted muscle in him to strive for propulsion.

In turn, Rufus' eyes narrowed, and he tilted his hips, forcing his fingers just a little deeper and twisting and crooking to reach his sweet spot. Once he found it, he assaulted it ruthlessly, gripping himself and tugging roughly until that insatiable, aching glow could no longer be contained and erupted from him in a plume of orgasmic fury. His body seized and his eyes could barely remain open, but he forced them to, because Rude was putting on a spectacle of his own, his anus seizing violently as jets of semen arced from his cock and splashed upon his chest and belly. His shades slipped askew as his body jerked, and the look in his eyes was like nothing Rufus had ever seen. It made him shudder all over with another rush of ecstasy.

He gulped down breath, his legs falling limp. He had to exert some effort to drag his fingers free, but then he let his hand dangle, the other still wrapped about his spent length. He stayed like that for some time, silently observing the gagged and disheveled Rude, who could to nothing but pander to his gaze.

Eventually, vitality returned to Rufus' limbs and he straightened himself up in his chair, not having realized that he had almost slid himself right out of his seat. Plucking a pair of tissues from the box on the sill nearby, he took care of the mess, and went about robing himself once more, covering up all the scars, all the truths about his body and his habits, and hiding them under layers of dignified tailoring and buckled straps.

He cast an eye over Rude's form again, this time with a twinge of amusement. "I imagine Elena would be scandalized by...all that," he mused, taking in the bondage contraption of a chair, the semen gelled all over Rude's body, the drool dripping down his chin, and the ball gag hinging his jaw open. "Should I call Reno for you?" he suggested.

Rude shook his head, reached his soiled hands forward, and cut off the call, leaving Rufus to wonder at just how he planned to get himself out of bondage. Then again, if he'd pulled the belt tight about his hands with his teeth...how did he get the gag on...? He must have had help.

His eyes widening at the name of the sender, Rufus stared at a message that popped up on his screen in the wake of the video window. It was from Hojo, wondering how he'd enjoyed the show.

All of a sudden, Rufus shuddered all over. Had Hojo been a silent third party all along? Was he there with Rude, or had he hacked into one of their screens? The scientist gave Rufus the creeps.

He hoped Sephiroth skewered the man.

*

Spinning slowly around and around, Tseng kept his eyes fixed on a single spot on the roof of his office, his chair squeaking periodically. His mind, too, was spinning around and around.

Reno. Zack. Rude. Rufus. Reno. A video file from Hojo. Zack... Reno.

An infantryman he'd once known, a man under Zack's wing...

Reno, Reno, Reno...

Boundless green eyes and a voice that chirped like a cricket in his ear, shouting his name.

It hadn't meant anything. He couldn't let it. He had to focus. He had to figure out who that mystery piece of AVALANCHE was and what his presence meant for Shinra, and for their plans. He had a job to do, just like Reno and Rude had done theirs. It was only a matter of time before all of their plans, and all of their sacrifices came to a head. Tseng couldn't afford to be distracted.

Halting the dizzy spinning of his chair, he downloaded the video file attachment and renamed it, saving it for another time in a private folder labelled misleadingly. Another time... When he didn't have such pressing concerns...and the fresh memory of the taste and feel of Reno's lips reshaping his entire world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves for a time warp back into Crisis Core.


	7. Crimson Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During his exile in Junon, Rufus reads Lazard's journal, provided to him by the Turks. He learns of the relationship between his half brother, the former Director of SOLDIER, and the young 1st Class, Sephiroth. Now, years later, Lazard is gone, and Sephiroth has been driven out of his mind, appearing in Junon even while events in Midgar come to a head. Will the Shinra line end with Rufus?
> 
> Sephiroth/Lazard  
> Sephiroth/Rufus (Mild)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: This chapter is strongly rooted in Crisis Core and there are many SPOILERS. I toyed with the idea of posting it as a separate fic, but I think this exploration of pre-Nibelheim Sephiroth's emotional state fits well within this story, and I want for this background to be established. That said, if you don't wish to be spoiled regarding Crisis Core or just don't have any interest in compilation characters like Lazard, this chapter can potentially be skipped, or skimmed for the Rufus content.
> 
> EDITS: As I take a deep-dive into the vast and confusing canon of the FFVII Compilation, I occasionally find inconsistencies in my understanding that have needed amending.
> 
> Most notably: 
> 
> 1\. In Chapter 4, The Man in the Mirror, I had confused my memory of Tifa's house with Clouds. That scene has now been moved to take place in the Shinra Manor, as Cloud's one-room house makes it impractical.
> 
> 2\. In Chapter 6, Turkish Delights on Dark Nights, I changed some of Rufus' internal monologue to reflect that he was under house arrest in Junon up until the incident at HQ when he intercepted a distress call to Junon and took the opportunity to free himself. Additionally, I added some hints involving his dealings with Sephiroth to tie in with events in this chapter.

**_We are more alike then I ever knew, he and I._ **

**_I was a lonely child, never trusted with the truth of my parentage by my mother, and shunned for the falsehoods by my peers. He was alone by nature, never quite fitting in with those who could never be his equal._ **

**_Even as I rose up the corporate ladder in leaps and bounds, I knew there was some sinister secret propelling that upward momentum, yet I could not conceive of it. Even as he enjoyed fame, notoriety, and a kind of companionship with his fellow 1sts, he knew it was built upon a fragile web of deceits._ **

**_In each of our cases, the roots of the regret growing in us like weeds stemmed from our origins. Mine, as the illegitimate son of Shinra's nepotistic CEO. His, as the lab-grown experiment masqueraded as a human child through the infusion of Jenova's genes into Hojo's own flesh and blood._ **

**_Perhaps the feathers representing our disgraces will not bear the same weight when balanced and tried, but they are of similar shape and form. I understand him, as he understands me._ **

Laying down the journal presented to him earlier that evening by Tseng, Rufus contemplated the words penned by his own blood—his bastard half-brother. It was obvious he wrote of Sephiroth, and almost laughable that he considered his plight anything near what Sephiroth must have experienced when he learned the truth. Then again, being a son to the infamous president of the Shinra Corporation might even be worse than being spliced with alien DNA—both were untouchable, but only one was a true kind of power. The strength Sephiroth could attribute to his genes was astonishing. Rufus would kill for a tenth of it. His position was precarious at best, ever since his subterfuge in backing AVALANCHE had been exposed to his father. To survive, he would need all of his cunning. At least he had inherited the ruthlessness that had made his father rich. That would be his best weapon in the coming reckoning.

Lazard, though... He had inherited little from their father, not even his name. Even so, he had been clearly favored, given opportunity after opportunity and constantly proven himself until he became Director of SOLDIER. Had he not betrayed the company even more unforgivably than Rufus' gamble with AVALANCHE, he would undoubtedly have been named vice president over Rufus. No matter. He was dead, now. The fool had rolled one too many die, and now he was dead—another monstrous skeleton to be buried in Shinra's basement.

It was rather poetic, really. Three prodigal sons, and not a one of them returning repentant.

Turning his face to take in more of the page, now lying open on the table to his right, Rufus scanned the cramped, handwritten text for clues as to what admissions might lie therein. Reading a sibling's journal might be traitorous, but only while they lived. Now that Lazard was gone, Rufus owed him a duty to commit his truths to memory... And what secrets he found!

*

_"Put down the pen, Lazard," coaxed the crushed diamond voice of the SOLDIER perched on the edge of his superior's desk. "You're not going to solve the world's problems with so many scribbles in ink."_

_The look Lazard turned up at him from behind those thick-paned glasses was one of quietly wounded dignity. "This is what I do. While you're out there, solving the world's problems with scribbles of blood, I push paper." Their gazes locked, Sephiroth felt the unfamiliar tug of regret for his words, and something in him rebelled, then gave way. Lazard's expression only hardened. "I'll put down my pen when you put down your sword."_

_There was a lot packed into that statement: lament of Sephiroth's talent for violence, a challenge to his better nature, perhaps even an invitation...or test of his resolve. Lazard was stressed and unhappy, that much was clear. How much of that was Sephiroth's fault, he couldn't be certain, but he knew that he and his fellow 1sts didn't always make things easy on their dear Director, and at any rate, his words were directly responsible for the man's immediate discontent._

_"I...didn't mean to devalue your work. I know it's necessary to pave the way for us heroes..." Sephiroth took a steadying breath, knowing that he was about to cross a line, and feeling oddly conflicted about it. "I just want you to take a moment and actually see at me—the man sitting on your desk looking for companionship in the middle of the night, not the formless name swimming before your tired eyes in black ink."_

_They weren't friends. Sephiroth didn't have any friends—not since he'd bested Genesis in that simulation and driven his tenuous peers away. Not that Lazard had any friends, either. That only made it all the more obvious that Sephiroth wasn't reaching out the hand of friendship. Only when he spoke his intention aloud did it occur to Sephiroth that his whim might have a deeper motivation than he had let himself recognize._

_When he'd returned from the field, tired and just a little more disillusioned than he had been before, he had decided to report directly to Lazard, who he knew for certain would still be working even at this late hour. Once the decision was made, his spirits had lifted some, and led to a playfulness he wasn't accustomed to. He'd chalked it up to his being tired, and having been isolated out in the wilderness of the Ice Fields for so long that he welcomed a little conversation. That might even explain why it annoyed him that Lazard just greeted him perfunctorily and continued applying his signature to sheaf after sheaf of paper without even questioning Sephiroth's continued presence._

_The silence wasn't uncomfortable to either of them, but one thing Sephiroth was not accustomed to was being ignored, and that quickly began to grate on him, prompting the spontaneous outburst he felt compelled to justify—but he wasn't accustomed to justifying himself, either. Now, he was overcompensating, and it was causing him to feel a fluster he was most definitely not accustomed to, resulting in a swiftly rising aggravation._

_He was quickly beginning to realize that Lazard might just have a greater significance to him than he had suspected, and that his lack of foresight was causing him to rapidly self-destruct like some kind of berserk Bomb. The panic of being blindsided by the kind of attachment he had always scorned in lesser folk was turning him into a blithering idiot—though a mercifully mute one. As he spun out internally, Sephiroth stared Lazard down with an increasing intensity, his jaw grinding to a painful crush of teeth, his breath coming heavily through his nose._

_"Relax, Sephiroth. I didn't take it personally," Lazard said eventually, pointedly raising his pen in the air and then placing it down neatly beside an as-yet unsigned form. "And I do see you... I do. Too well," he said, so softly that it almost eluded even Sephiroth's sensitive ears. Lazard seemed harried, as if he were being forced to swallow something he would rather scrape aside, but he closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened, there was a soft clarity in their blue depths. "The truth is, I was hoping you would get bored and leave. It's not like you to be so...persistent." He raised his hand, forestalling any argument or objection Sephiroth may have raised. "I'm a little flattered...but also...shy. Forgive me."_

_"You want me to go, then," Sephiroth rephrased, his tone flat as he tried to conceal the dismay that statement caused him._

_"No, I... I'm not very good at expressing myself, Sephiroth. What I mean to say is that... Yes, I did want you to go, because having you here makes me feel uncomfortable—but that's my failing, not yours. Wait! Just...hear me out. I'm trying." With a deep sigh, Lazard raised his glasses up and pinched his eyes in a clear sign of frustration. "You make me uncomfortable because I find you attractive," he ground out, as if the words caused him physical distress. "I know you're just looking for a little company after so long by yourself. It was selfish of me to try and drive you away to spare myself, and for that, I apologize. I don't...want you to go. I never do."_

_Lazard was passably good-looking. He was useless in a fight. He was a clever strategist and bore himself well on the field of office politics. He even reliably managed the most unruly of SOLDIERS, but he was not the most authoritative of figures. He was quiet and appeared unassuming. If Sephiroth had not served under him as a SOLDIER, he would not have looked twice. He was not at all the god among men that Sephiroth had imagined he might eventually consider worthy of his affection._

_His reluctant, matter-of-fact, self-deprecating confession was causing Sephiroth's blood to run first hot, then cold, sending a shower of tingling sparks throughout his nervous system. It made no sense._

_This was utterly new territory for Sephiroth, but he instantly knew that he must react calmly and preserve his image. He had a reputation to maintain. He had standards to uphold. He had Lazard's tie clenched in his fist and the man's clamoring tongue in his mouth before he realized he'd just stormed right past his first kiss and left it reeling._

_Amazed at himself, he disengaged the liplock, let go of his death grip on Lazard's tie, smoothed it down as he focused on steadying his heart rate with a solid breath, and then walked out of the room, holding his chaotic thoughts ransom behind resolutely clenched teeth._

*

_Frozen in awe and disbelief, Lazard's eyes followed Sephiroth out the door. He didn't dare breath, let alone utter a sound or move a muscle. If he shattered the still silence, the world might just fall apart._

_How long...? How long had he quietly appreciated Sephiroth's aspect and attitude, knowing all along that his appreciation masked a far deeper and more volatile desire?_

_For all that he knew of the cogs and gears behind SOLDIER, for all that he knew of Sephiroth, and for all that he knew of his own unworthiness for his position and as a romantic partner... He had strong feelings for Sephiroth, and he was never able to truly bury then. There was no hope of it now, not after feeling those divinely ripe lips part his own with such fervor and steal his tongue away into the soft depths of a mouth he had dreamed of mapping out on more than one occasion._

_His dreams never emulated erotica, but sometimes he woke feeling as though he had been kissing Sephiroth for hours on end, and the effect on his body would be fiercely pressing. Yet it wasn't only a physical attraction. He also admired Sephiroth's intellect, as well as his confidence, and often found his mind straying to Sephiroth's whereabouts. Not that he ever feared for Sephiroth. That would be absurd. He simply thought on Sephiroth at times, and imagined how the SOLDIER might be faring on his missions, or what Sephiroth might be doing when he was not off on assignment._

_It was hard to imagine a man like Sephiroth engaging in hobbies, or going out drinking. Rather, he imagined Sephiroth occupied himself either with constant training or purposeful study. He often found himself lacking in comparison, and used that motivation to better himself in some way. He was not a strong man, but he could learn to defend himself more efficiently, or master new schools of strategy, or..._

_There was only one way he could ever hope to be as worthy and influential a man as Sephiroth. He must play to his integrity and uncover all of the secrets buried under Shinra's benevolent shell. If it came to it, he must do all that was in his power to bring this corporation crumbling down, even if he was buried under the detritus._

_Even if it was possible that Sephiroth could feel something for him in return, Lazard could not allow it. He could not allow himself. It would only cause them both pain in the long run, though he knew he himself had much more to gain and even more to lose._

_As if summoned in defiance of that very sentiment, Sephiroth swept back into Lazard's office, and approached with such swift determination that Lazard was ready to be thrown against the wall and left broken and bleeding. He was thus shocked into a physical jolt that almost lifted him from his seat when Sephiroth dropped to one knee, his head bowed and his eyes downcast._

_"I'm not myself," he breathed, presumably by way of apology, the rumble of his voice sending shivers radiating out from Lazard's core. "But I do not regret it." Sephiroth slowly raised his face, and there was a vulnerability there that Lazard hadn't imagined could exist. "If this hopeful uncertainty is anything like what you feel, I don't know how you can stand to conceal it."_

_On the wind of a shaky breath, Lazard confessed, "I can't," and found himself caught in Sephiroth's arms as he lurched from his chair._

*

**_I doubt I'll ever know if I was trying to flee from him, or capture him, but it was he who captured me, and nothing was ever the same again. We never discussed it further. I believe that was the most emotion either of us has ever ventured to express, but our bodies spoke the volumes that our tongues suppressed._ **

**_Sephiroth, the lover, is just as extraordinary as even the most creative minds might imagine. He does great justice to Sephiroth, the hero, and Sephiroth, the warrior. Once he opened his arms to me, he never showed the slightest hesitation, and I soon felt as though he may also have opened his heart, silently but steadfast. He is not perceived as a warm man, but there is a quiet heat even in his soft smiles that conceal silent thoughts, and he is a fiery lover. I know now that I was lying to myself if I believed I could stop my inevitable descent into the treacherous depths of love for this man whose power and beauty are matched only by his ferocity and indomitable will. He is truly superior to us mere, human creatures, and yet, if his strength and capacity were to be replicated in one less stable, or an army of malleable drones, I shudder to think what Shinra would make of this world._ **

**_For Sephiroth's sake, I must bring an end to their designs. I cannot bear for him to ever have cause to doubt that he is the most precious thing upon this planet._ **

"Well, damn," Rufus mumbled in appreciation.

Lazard...and Sephiroth. Sephiroth and Lazard. Sephiroth was a man, with a man's wants and needs, and desires, and all the parts that entailed... It was hard to imagine.

No, it wasn't. Not really. Although, Rufus was getting hard for the imagining. How could he not? The thought of that glorious sliver hair splayed about that magnificent body, his own half-brother lapping at one peaked nipple... Nipples! Sephiroth had nipples!

Of course he did. Who hadn't seen those impressive pecks on display under that utterly impractical trench coat? And yet, Rufus had never once looked at Sephiroth and imagined that the man might feel the same thrill of electric ecstasy at having his nipples sucked as any other living being. Now, he couldn't stop thinking about it, and he grappled with his pants belt, compelled to stroke himself off to a desperate release as the images in his mind only grew more and more degenerate.

He imagined Lazard on his knees, choking on Sephiroth's cock, or crouched on the bed like a dog, rocking under the force of Sephiroth's thrusts. Rufus' mind painted for him a vivid image of Lazard lying splay-legged across his desk, his glasses askew and his knuckles clenched between his teeth as Sephiroth slowly and maddeningly dragged his hips back and forth. With a grunt, Rufus came easily as he envisioned Sephiroth lying on the very bed that filled this room he had lived in for years now in Junon, pinching his own nipple between leather-clad fingers, and thrusting up into a gloved hand.

As the vision faded, Rufus stared down at his soiled palm, instead, blinking fatigued eyes and feeling the sweat begin to cool on his skin. In laying his eyes on the secrets contained within Lazard's journal, he had pried open his own, personal Pandora's box.

*

_"Put down the pen," Sephiroth whispered, his fingers sliding over Lazard's cheek as he slapped his other hand down atop the latest document topping off a dwindling stack. "The world can wait."_

_"Perhaps," Lazard murmured, rubbing his cheek against the soft leather cupping his face. "But so can you."_

_"No," Sephiroth argued, curling his fingers under to tilt Lazard's chin up toward him, resting atop his index finger. "I can't. You've assigned me a 2nd to mentor, remember?"_

_Lazard's eyebrows rose. "Of course I do, but I didn't expect you to take that order any more seriously than you do any others."_

_"I'm wounded," Sephiroth crooned. "When you order me to take you, do I not oblige? When you order me to fuck you harder, do I not follow through?"_

_The rosy sheen that spread across Lazard's nose was well worth the utterance. The director's voice was rough and deep when he finally found it. "It's not simply because you like him, then."_

_Sephiroth could almost scent the jealousy on the man who went to great lengths to stifle his own emotions, and it stirred his possessive pride. "He's the single-most irritating mouth with legs in existence," Sephiroth hissed, allowing his displeasure to seethe upon his tongue and wash over Lazard with each elegantly elongated vowel and lovingly crafted sibilant. "He's just lucky I happen to like his advocate, who happens to be my boss, and—more importantly—is going to put down his cursed pen and come to bed with me while he has the chance."_

_Truth be told, Sephiroth wasn't in dire need of sex. He had no urgent desire, except to liberate his lover from the work that was whittling away at him little by little._

_Lately, those signatures he scribbled on page after page may as well be written in the blood that stained each and every order he was forced to give. He had a kind soul, and it was raw with the evil Shinra demanded of him._

_Given the license to choose his missions, Sephiroth generally did as he pleased, shunning Shinra's dirty-work, 1st-hunting, and the like, but he was beginning to feel the strain somewhat himself as he tracked down the secrets that had driven Genesis and even Angeal to betray the company while that puppy dog of a 2nd grated on his nerves. He could stand to blow off a little steam before he went and did his duty for Lazard's benefit._

_Besides, who knew when they would have word of the two rogue 1st Class SOLDIERS? And then, it might be weeks or months before he was back in Midgar to enjoy the perks of sleeping with the boss again. He knew Lazard had surprisingly low esteem, and secretly assumed Sephiroth was sleeping around with Turks and SOLDIERS, and whoever else caught his fancy...but nobody ever did—nobody except the quiet Director who shared his socially awkward tendencies and always afforded him brutal honesty. They were good together._

_"All right," Lazard agreed. "Just let me finish up one last thing... I'm making it official. Your mouth with legs will be a 1st."_

_"Oh, good. Then he won't need me," Sephiroth said mildly, waiting patiently for the other shoe to drop._

_"On the contrary, he will nee dyour guidance more than ever," Lazard corrected him. "Genesis is gone. Angeal is now missing. The vast majority of other higher ranking SOLDIERS have deserted... We need Zack's raw ability, so he will be made a 1st, but he has not yet filled all of the requirements of that station. Take him, train him, and let him support you and take some of the weight off your shoulders."_

_"He hasn't undergone the mako treatments..." Sephiroth murmured, frowning. Zack was strong, even he had seen that. To think that that strength came mostly from within him, and could not be attributed to the extensive enhancements that were a pre-requisite of the 1st Class rank... "Fine. I'll keep him out of trouble."_

_"And maybe he'll keep you out of trouble," Lazard responded dryly._

_A moment later, they both felt the sting of that statement. First Genesis, then Angeal... What would it take for Sephiroth to be next?_

_"Do your thing," Sephiroth relented, getting up and walking to the door. "I'll take a shower...and if you're not there when I'm done, I'll start without you."_

*

_The room they often appropriated for personal use had once housed an Ancient and her daughter, and from what Lazard understood, the daughter might just be in residence again before long. It was a dank little place, but for the colorful child's drawing on the far wall, but it suited their needs._

_There were other beds and other rooms within the building, but most were open to use by all employees from a certain set of floors, and others were under surveillance. This little room was abandoned, and their use of it would not be questioned._

_Allowing Sephiroth to kiss him toward the bed, Lazard shrugged out of his suit jacket and tugged at the tie that often felt like a collar and leash. There was an intensity in him tonight that he knew was born of the stressful secret he kept from his lover—that he would be the next deserter. Long after he was gone, Sephiroth would remain a loyal employee. Like Lazard, he was born to it. Unlike Lazard, Shinra openly claimed him with pride and glory._

_Lazard had considered shedding light on the truth, and telling Sephiroth all he knew and had discovered, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. For all his strength, reliability, and outward maturity, there was an innocence in Sephiroth that Lazard couldn't bring himself to destroy. He knew the truth would undo Sephiroth in heart and mind, and one day, he may have to learn it, but not by Lazard's hand. Never that._

_Thus, he kept his peace, pouring his hopes and regrets alike into this tryst that may well be their last. It would be something for Sephiroth to remember him by...and something for himself to hold onto._

_It never took much effort on Sephiroth's part to work Lazard into a state beyond bearing. How could it, when just laying eyes on Sephiroth, clothed and proper, had him half-hard on a daily basis. He was completely powerless against any glint of lust in Sephiroth's eyes, let alone the full, erotic glory of that exquisite naked form. It didn't help that Sephiroth had the run of him. He had a mind and will of his own, and he put both to good use in the bedroom, but he would never deny Sephiroth anything. The slightest push and he was down on his knees, or spreading his legs. If Sephiroth kissed him gently, he responded with open arms. If Sephiroth was rough with him, he resisted just enough to make things interesting, but when he was spun around and pushed up against the wall, his trousers dropping around his ankles, he braced himself and welcomed the invasion of his body, feeling whole at last. It didn't matter if he had been in the mood for a slow burn on a soft mattress, or the velvet embrace of running water in the shower. If Sephiroth wanted him hard and fast against the wall, then his body was on board._

_Just this once, though... Just this once, he had designs of his own. He let himself be lowered to the mattress, his pants sliding off in Sephiroth's hands even as he wriggled back toward the wall, propped up on his elbows. He took a deep breath, and overruled the nervous flutter in his belly, voicing his first request. "Stay there."_

_Already reaching toward the mattress to crawl atop him, Sephiroth paused, stretched out like a leopard ready to pounce at his prey's slightest twitch. Intrigue in his eyes, he slowly backed off, standing up straight._

_Lazard breathed in deeply, openly admiring the man who stood before him. "Take off your coat," he said, wishing there was less uncertainty in his tone._

_To his surprise, Sephiroth hesitated, but not out of rebellion. He seemed almost shy, for the first time since their first kiss._

_"It may be a while before I see you again," Lazard explained, only lying by omission. "I want to burn every inch of you into my mind."_

_Sephiroth seemed wary, as though he sensed some of what Lazard wasn't saying. After considering, he eventually shed his coat as asked, though he did so with the air of one doing as he was told, not infusing the action with any seductive allure. That was just as well, or Lazard's memory might not be equal to the subject matter. This quiet, introspective Sephiroth, who did as he was asked not because he was meek, but because he was powerful enough to have nothing to lose... This was the man no one else knew. This was the man who was open and honest with Lazard, alone._

_Sephiroth spread his arms to show that he was now clad only in his underarmor and leather leggings. Without the shoulder plates that disguised his physique, the lithely roped muscles of his powerful arms were on display, and Lazard's eyes were drawn to them. He could feel the texture of that muscular terrain just by looking, and it caused his belly to clench suddenly with desire. He had never been physically strong, and he coveted that visible strength in his lover._

_Next, his gaze roamed over the falls of gorgeous silver silk that uniquely softened Sephiroth's otherwise butch appearance. It was a perfect visual analogy for the man himself. The gentle aspects of his soul were never concealed, and yet they were taken for granted as a complement to the whole, never quite appreciated for how integral they were to shaping him. That hair framed him and molded him, and Lazard could get lost in it for hours. He often did so, insisting on sleeping at Sephiroth's back, and playing with those soft strands after his lover drifted off to sleep. The color of it defied the comprehension of most, but Lazard knew it was a mark of his ethereal origins, harkening back to Jenova, who provided the lion's share of Sephiroth's DNA._

_His facial features, and the swell of his hips also spoke of feminine curves and lines, but there was a set to his nose and brow that was entirely Hojo, lest anyone should doubt his paternity. Those lips, though... They transcended the binary limitations of gender all together, forming together in the trap of a natural predator. That thick bottom lip, like the arched petal of a rose, drew in his prey, distracting from the sharp upper lip that would catch whatever came too near. All too often, Lazard had found himself mesmerized by the need to kiss those lips, only to find Sephiroth's teeth sinking into his own._

_If the lips didn't trap you...those eyes would. They had a magic all of their own, like materia refined and polished into sparkling gemstones, infinitely deep and stunningly faceted. So deep-set, they appeared like ancient treasure buried in a smooth rock face, they shone with hidden knowledge._

_It was all an illusion, as Lazard well knew. Sephiroth was no wiser than any other well-read young man, and no more dangerous than any overconfident alpha warrior. The only difference was that overconfidence was not something Sephiroth need fear._

_Lazard had never quite looked at his lover in this way before. In the past, he had resolved to treat Sephiroth as his subordinate, and taken pains not to give his eyes too much credit, in order to avoid objectifying someone whose life and livelihood was supposedly in his hands. Then, Sephiroth had opened up to him in a way that made the SOLDIER's emotional vulnerabilities clearer, and Lazard had begun to see the subtle flaws in him that made it a little easier to spend his days staring at the sun. By focusing on those small quirks and imperfections, he was able to spare himself from being overwhelmed._

_Now, he viewed the whole—imperfections and all—and found it, simply, beautiful. He no longer feared losing himself to a magnificence incomprehensible to his feeble mind. He knew this man, and he understood him better than any other probably ever would. He could withstand the enormity of both desire and emotion that swelled within him, channeling it into a feeling he had never before admitted to himself._

_He loved Sephiroth. He was not_ in love _, in the sense that many considered they must be with this man. He was not obsessed, or infatuated, or blinded. He simply loved all of the traits and quirks, flaws and perfections, both physical and personal, that made up this being._

_He beckoned, raising his knees and making room for Sephiroth to crawl over him, that strong body radiating warmth and protection that made Lazard feel uniquely secure. He unclipped the abdominal bracer and shoulder straps, setting them aside, and opened Sephiroth's belt buckles, parting the malleable leather and drawing Sephiroth's manhood from its embrace._

_Sephiroth took him smoothly with that guidance, and Lazard wrapped his arm about those powerful shoulders, arching up to bring their torso's together. He wanted to feel as much of Sephiroth as he could contrive to at any given moment move against and over him. The buttons of his shirt were trapped between them, digging into his skin, and the folds and creases of the fabric rubbed uncomfortably. Soft leather containing pulsing leg muscles caressed the backs of his thighs, while his legs clenched around Sephiroth's torso, his knees bent up under straining shoulders._

_Every motion of Sephiroth's body dominated his own, be it the muscles that slid against his outer flesh, or the length that grazed his inner walls, forcing them to expand around the invading flesh with each inward plunge. Sephiroth thrust at a steady pace, allowing them both to experience all the sensations in and around their bodies, and creating a pocket of time for sensations less physical, where they could taste and reflect upon emotions not easily available to either of them._

_Gazing down with a similar intensity to that with which Lazard had studied him earlier, Sephiroth brushed a fall of unruly curls from Lazard's eyes, and then gently plucked the glasses from his nose. The definition bled out of Sephiroth's features as Lazard's vision blurred, but he maintained the details firmly in his mind, now, so he let his eyes drift closed and gave his senses over to touch. He relaxed into the arm reaching underneath him, and let Sephiroth take complete control of his body, fighting neither the motion that rocked him, nor the surface that anchored him. Gossamer strands of hair drifted across his skin, giving him the sensation of being stroked by clouds, and that plump bottom lip lapped at his jaw, rolling up over his chin and tasting him like a wave breaking over rocks and pooling against his mouth._

_His lips parted instinctively, and he accepted the tide that rolled in, sweeping his tongue away with it and tossing it about in the currents. His body was rolled and buffeted by that oceanic entity, but always sheltered in its consummate embrace, and he let it carry him where it would._

*

_**It is not that I have no regrets, for the man I confess I once loved is no more—driven mad by twists of fate and treachery that break my heart just to contemplate. Yet, I cannot regret that I loved him. I cannot regret that I did all I could to prevent this pain from coming down upon him. I thought, perhaps, I might become worthy of him, if only for a short time, if Angeal's cells took well to my own. But I am a mere mortal, not fit to be in such grand company. My body degrades by the day. I am a failure of a copy.** _

_**I fear that if I am gone, the rage Sephiroth has exhibited since learning of his origins will go unchecked. I had hoped I might be a temperance to him, but it is not to be. I have found a small kernel of hope, however. An experiment of Hojo's, of which two specimens remain. One of these may just be our last hope—mine, and Sephiroth's that is.** _

_**I know he would not have wanted this for himself. I know he would forgive me for planting the seeds of his demise and releasing them on the wind.** _

_**I can only hope that he might be brought to his senses by some means other than myself before the worst comes to pass. If there is one thing to which I could dedicate my dying wish, it would be this.** _

_**Find peace, Sephiroth.** _

_**Find love in your heart again, and know that love is universal.** _

_**Genesis has branded you the perfect monster, but he knows nothing of the man I know you to be. I would brand you an imperfect deity—a flawed creature of the heavens, sentenced to walk among ever-more-flawed men.** _

_**You have waded through a sea of blood in search of this answer. I can only have faith that you will find it when you find your safe harbor, as I found mine in you.** _

Lazard had obviously grown increasingly sentimental in his last days, perhaps moved by the poetry Genesis had never once stopped spouting, or perhaps by the rotting of his brain, partially overwritten by Angeal's failing DNA. Not only had he taken on the look of Angeal, but the degradation had also turned his hair white, in mimicry of his beloved, much as it had done to Genesis. Had the monstrous transformation of his form made Lazard feel closer to Sephiroth near his end? It was sad to imagine.

Rufus cast the journal aside in disgust. He had not loved his sibling, but he had admired him. To rise up from nothing and take control over three superhuman beings, as well as an entire army of powerful experiments was no mean feat. That was as far as his legacy would ever go, though. He lost Genesis, drove Angeal away, himself deserted, and then condemned Sephiroth to madness, or so the journal and the Turks testified.

To the larger population, Sephiroth was just a name in the annals, a hero killed in action. Rufus, of course, knew better, but neither he nor any of his informants had any idea where Sephiroth had been and what he had done with himself these past four years. Lazard, it seemed, had not known, either, and thus Rufus' hope of finding some hint of Sephiroth's whereabouts and intentions was thwarted.

His funding of AVALANCHE's early activities had ended in disaster, seeing him locked away in Junon, unable to wield any influence over the company's direction. That he had been named Vice President shortly after Lazard's desertion only made it clear that he had not been the favorite until he was the only choice. The position gave him no real power. The Turks' loyalty to him was more personal than professional, and they gave him eyes, ears, and limbs out in the wider world, but he could do little of consequence from the glass prison to which he was condemned.

*

It happened during a radiant, red sunset that briefly turned the waters to blood like the manifestation of a prophecy. Rufus stood on the closed-off street that comprised the entirety of his world beyond quarters, watching the horizon darken as he so often did; but as the sun sank into the ocean, it was as though it had been stabbed through, bleeding out into the water's surface in a spreading stain that reached toward him on ripples of waves. He was so mesmerized that he did not notice the presence behind him until a powerful arm settled over his shoulder, holding him pinned to the solid wall of a body that appeared at his side.

"Hello, Rufus," drawled Sephiroth, gazing serenely out on the ominous vision of a scarlet sea.

That voice broke over him with the gravity of sheer terror. This was no SOLDIER, no man of honor, nor a even fierce warrior who might cut him down swiftly and mercifully... This was a madman, most likely on a crusade of vengeance.

"Sephiroth," Rufus greeted, choking midway to the final syllable. He swallowed down the lump of fear in his throat and tried again. "It's been a while since anyone's seen you. I'd heard you were dead. What brings you to Junon?"

"Oh, I'm sure you did hear that. I'm also quite sure you could smell the dung of that lie a mile away," Sephiroth said in a calm, amiable tone. "I'm just passing through on my way back to Midgar," he explained, conspiratorially, leaning in to look out across the water over Rufus' shoulder. "What brings you to Junon? Oh, that's right. You've been here for, what, four years? Five? Ever since you tried to stab daddy in the back by paying off his mortal enemies."

"Well, there you have it. Common ground. You know a few things about stabbing people in the back, don't you?" Rufus retorted. "I'll bet you can't wait to stick that sword of yours into Hojo, eh? And they call me daddy's little boy..."

A chortle alerted Rufus belatedly to the inadvertent innuendo. "Who knew you were such a crass little bastard?"

"Oh, see, you're confusing me with my brother," Rufus suggested, shooting a sly, sideways smile at Sephiroth as he warmed up to the banter and the initial fear melted away. If he was to die, he would probably already be bleeding out on the pavement, choking on his own guts. "Of course, I suppose I should take that as a compliment, considering how well you got along with him."

"Lazard may have been a bastard, but he was never crass," Sephiroth growled, turning to lean back against the concrete balustrade, his arm still hooked about Rufus' neck so that they were almost pulled into a close embrace. "I did so enjoy sticking him in the back, though."

The way Sephiroth's eyes drifted down to Rufus' lips caused his skin to flush, and his pants to tighten some. He was well aware of the danger here, but it only made the thrill that much greater. He had his cards to play, and he laid one down now, pouring any fondness and regret he had ever held for Lazard into a heartfelt, relayed confession, spoken softly on a breath.

"He loved you."

Sephiroth's eyes flashed, strong emotion channeled directly into anger that he barely held in check, though his hold tightened around Rufus' shoulders.

"What would you know?" rumbled that deep, threatening voice.

"You're right," Rufus gasped, his body thrilling at being crushed against Sephiroth's hard, muscular frame. "We weren't close." He gripped the ledge behind Sephiroth for courage, knowing this was the moment that would decide his fate. "But I've read his journal—everything from his early years at Shinra to his final days. I know what you were to one another. I know how he felt about you...and I know he was a good man, who didn't deserve to die, or to have his lineage go unacknowledged when he was more fit than I'll ever be to bear the Shinra name."

Rufus gasped as Sephiroth straightened up to his full height, and he was pulled firmly against that strong chest, craning his neck up to meet eyes darkened by shadow yet lit from within. He was trembling, and there was no controlling it. Sephiroth could crush him where they stood if he so chose.

"The Shinra name won't mean a damn thing when I'm done with it," Sephiroth promised, the thought clearly providing him some pleasure as he smiled through the words. "You can have it."

Rufus closed his eyes, prepared to meet his end, but it didn't come. Nothing changed. Sephiroth didn't move a muscle.

When Rufus bravely cracked open his eyelids, he saw that Sephiroth's face was turned aside, gazing out along the darkening coast toward Midgar. His hair blew in the breeze. He looked majestic, almost like the hero Rufus remembered.

"I'll do better," he swore, inspired by that sight. "I'll rebuild Shinra from the ground up. I'll be the man Lazard would have been—the man my father never was. Help me. Help me take over the company, and—"

"I'm going to destroy President Shinra, Hojo, and any other company men—or women—who stand in my way. When the dust settles, you can claim what's left...if there's anything worth the claiming. If not Lazard, then it may as well be you." Letting his arm slip from around Rufus' body, Sephiroth leaned casually back against the balustrade, looking for all the world like a man relaxing during an evening stroll. "Not that it'll do you any good when I grind this planet and everything on it into a fine dust. Mother calls to me. It's time to go home."

Rufus stumbled hastily out of the way as Sephiroth abruptly set off, leaving him there, seemingly forgotten in the cold, evening air as darkness fell like a shroud. Rufus wasn't sure what possessed him... Perhaps some genuine remnant of emotion for the brother he might have had if things had gone differently.

"Lazard... He wanted you to know you're not... He didn't think of you as a monster!" Sephiroth stopped in his tracks, his back rigid. "He wanted you to be better than that. He believed you're better than that..." Slowly, Sephiroth turned, his gaze cold and his expression a warning. "He wrote...that he hopes you'll find love in your heart again. That love is universal, and that... That he hopes you will find that answer for yourself in someone... In some safe harbor."

With calculated, predatory movements, Sephiroth retraced his steps, approaching Rufus and stopping several inches away. He hooked one finger through a buckle securing Rufus' coat, easily hauling him nearer. Leaning down, Sephiroth breathed menacingly against trembling lips, "That doesn't sound like the Lazard I knew... But either way, it's too bad. Monsters like me don't come equipped with hearts."

Without mercy, he ravaged Rufus' lips in a vicious kiss that drew blood, then pushed the vice president of Shinra roughly away as he unfurled one massive wing and launched himself into the air, proving his monstrous nature and trampling Lazard's memory in one fell swoop. Rufus fell to his knees as he watched Sephiroth's powerful wing buffet the air, carrying him off toward Midgar.

He tried to scrub the feel of those lips from his own, scratching them with his fingernails, wiping and scrubbing with his palm and the back of his hand, but the memory was embedded beneath his skin, and his body burned with want. Had he actually imagined, for just one, imbecilic moment, that he could be Sephiroth's safe harbor? He stared down at his shaking hand, studying his palm. The blood he'd wiped from his lip pooled in the creases, staining the road map of his fate crimson, depicting some foreboding portent.

Closing his fist, Rufus tightened his grip until his nails bit into the skin. It was time to grow up. Let Sephiroth clear the way for him. Once Shinra was his, he would stop the madman and put his brother's soul to rest in the doing. He had the Turks on his side, and he had Avalanche to manipulate into doing his bidding as he had done in the past.

All Lazard had ever done was fail, desert, and pin his hopes on a vile monster who would be the death of them all. Rufus would be the one to stop Sephiroth, and become a hero not only to the people of Midgar, but to the whole planet. Sephiroth was naught but another tool at his disposal.


	8. Dogs of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kunsel/Cloud  
> Rufus/Reno
> 
> While Cloud and co infiltrate the Shinra building, Rufus is escorted back from Junon, and certain wires begin to cross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, it's been a while! due to the pacing and rigidity of events at Shinra, it took a while to figure out how to work these pairings in.
> 
> For the record, I imagine Kunsel to look a lot like Locke from FFV.

"Hey, boss...? It's him, isn't it?"

"Care to elaborate?" Tseng asked, maneuvering around Reno and Elena, who were lounging about his office as though it were their own living room while he checked various intel reports and ran his eyes over the live security footage just to be safe.

Reno, sitting back and relaxing, as one did when on break, tracked his movements with keen, green eyes. "A little while back, we Turks were deployed to bring in a pair of lab escapees... One of them was that Zack guy from SOLDIER, but the other one... That's him. The blond. Isn't it?"

"Cloud Strife, a former infantryman and SOLDIER trainee," supplied Elena, impressing Tseng with her quick logic.

"No way! How can he be a trainee? He says he's 1st Class," Reno argued.

Tseng turned to observe his face. "And what do you think of that?" he asked.

Frowning, Reno unconsciously felt out his wounds. "He's strong enough... I just don't know how."

"I'd wager you do. Playing dumb doesn't behoove you, Reno," said Tseng, turning his back again to double check a time stamp on a certain email.

Reno was quiet for a little while, giving Tseng a chance to think through his next moves.

"They did it to him in the lab, huh?" the rowdy Turk asked eventually. "That's where Zack was for the last four years, too."

"Why don't you go ask the man who's responsible, hm?" Tseng suggested absently, his eyes flicking to a certain folder containing a file he hadn't yet opened. He wouldn't mind a break, himself, and a moment of privacy...but this wasn't the time, really.

"Oh, hell no," Reno complained, loudly. "Hojo's bad mojo. Gives me the creeps."

Tseng grunted in accordance with that. "You don't know the half of it... So do yourself a favor and stay out of it, Reno. In fact..." It was just about time. "Why don't you and Rude take the chopper to Junon and pick up our unofficial department head? Don't tarry. There's too much at stake."

"Wait, you want them to bring the vice president back here? I thought he was exiled after that coup he tried to pull with AVALANCHE," Elena piped up.

"One way or another, it's time for him to come out of the shadows. Shinra as we know it ends tonight," Tseng told the pair.

He knew what he would like to see happen, and he was sure Rufus would make it so, one way or another, but the Turks were on dangerous ground in the meantime. Getting Reno out of his hair for a little while was probably the safest move. He could always count on Reno and Rude in a pinch, but Reno had too little patience to sit, stay, and play the waiting game that Tseng was presently engaged in.

*

Having completely crushed everything Chadley could think of to throw at him for the time being, Cloud decided to go slake his thirst while Tifa tried her hand, Barret watching over her like a concerned mother hen. It had been a long time since he'd been in the Shinra building, and things had been moved around and upgraded, but it wasn't hard to find a vending machine around a quiet little corner from a bench overlooking the city through the wall of windows.

Gratefully taking a time out, Cloud sank onto the bench, drinking down a potion that replenished his waning energy after all that fighting. It was cool and refreshing, and his little corner of the world was so peaceful. For a moment, the monstrosity that was Midgar seemed almost pretty—a galaxy of sparkling lights in the dark of the night.

"Cloud...?"

The hesitant voice sounded mildly familiar, and in his peaceful state, Cloud responded calmly, his fighting instincts suppressed. He looked up at the helmeted 2nd Class, wondering who it might be.

"It is you... Isn't it?"

Tearing off his helmet, a hale young man with mousy brown hair and attractive features shook out his helmet hair and then took several steps closer, falling to his knees before Cloud could rise. His eyes were wide and filled with shock.

"I thought you were dead. I thought you both were. They said you were, and normally I wouldn't believe the propaganda, but... Neither of you came back for so long and I... Cloud..."

A vague memory stirred of a personable SOLDIER with lots of gossip to share...and more. Had Cloud slept with this guy? It seemed possible, but he couldn't quite...

"What about Z—"

In an instant, Cloud's head split open with a ferocity that was utterly stunning. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor, dazed. His head was in the SOLDIER's lap, gentle hands stroking his hair.

"K... Kunsel?" Cloud asked, not sure where the name came from.

"Someone really did a number on you, huh?" asked the SOLDIER. "Yeah, it's me. You remember me, don't you? I mean, sure, maybe I lost you to a better man...but it can't be that easy to forget your first..."

No, that couldn't be right... Cloud's first was... It was his mentor, Angeal... But maybe Kunsel hadn't known that when they... Hadn't Kunsel been his mentor, too? Did he have it wrong, himself?

A light pounding in his skull threatened to escalate, so Cloud resolved to stop thinking so hard. He quickly righted himself, using the bench to help him stand.

"Here," said Kunsel, handing him the remainder of a half-finished potion.

Cloud took it gratefully and felt the headache recede.

"Better?" Kunsel asked, hovering close.

"Yeah, much," said Cloud, thinking about how he could extricate himself.

Before he came up with an excuse, Kunsel moved in, sliding gentle arms around him and backing him up around the corner, against the vending machine. It would have been rude to dodge the soft kiss that landed on his lips.

"I know it's been a long time, and a lot's changed, and maybe I'm stepping on some 1st Class toes here...but I really missed you, Cloud. I've been worried sick." 

Another kiss drew out into a series, and the shape and feel of Kunsel's lips was so familiar, Cloud just couldn't bring himself to resist. He felt oddly safe with this man.

"I'm... I'm not with Sephiroth," Cloud insisted, wondering why he felt compelled to clear up the misunderstanding. He barely remembered this man. He was under no obligation to spare his feelings.

"Uh, sure. Okay," Kunsel said in a strange, skeptical tone that made Cloud wonder what rumors had circulated in his absence. "But hey, me, either." There was an amusement to Kunsel's tone that told Cloud he wasn't too worried, so Cloud decided to let it slide.

He also let Kunsel's hand slide into his pants. He could have stopped it. He clearly had the advantage of strength... But he felt strangely comfortable with letting this man take charge of him.

Then again, they were in an entirely public area with only a corner or two to block them from the view of off-the-clock Shinra employees while Cloud was in the midst of a rescue mission in enemy territory. Kunsel clearly had no idea he was with AVALANCHE, but if they were caught here, it wouldn't be long before the truth got out.

As if he could read some of Cloud's thoughts, Kunsel backed off a little, his kisses drying up, but his wrist still stuffed down Cloud's pants, stroking him boldly to life, right there in the open. The way his body was positioned, nobody would be able to see anything now but two men standing and talking. As soon as he realized what Kunsel intended, Cloud's whole body flushed with heat.

These were the kinds of games SOLDIERS played during their training and early careers. Those 2nds with their eyes on 1st rarely got involved in this sort of thing, but few could say they'd never done as a 3rd.

Licking his lips and regulating his breathing, Cloud pressed himself back against the vending machine and let Kunsel have his way. After all, if he didn't want to reveal he was a traitor, it was best to play along.

Smirking, Kunsel began adding a twist to his strokes. "Same old Cloud," he said. "You can dress up as a 1st, but you're still the same, suggestible recruit we all know and love."

The best way to avoid putting his foot in it was to shut up and let Kunsel have his say. Cloud rested his head back against the vending machine, his eyes on the corner and his ears straining. He heard the occasional voice pass by, some coming close, but nobody rounded the bend, and before long, his hips were rocking into the hand curled about his length.

"Don't hold back," Kunsel whispered, his eyes scouring Cloud's face. "Nobody's measuring your endurance..."

As heat and the thrill of their circumstances churned within him, Cloud began to remember a little more of Kunsel, and clandestine trysts in the barracks, on warfs, around Midgar... He remembered being thrust up against a mako capsule with a fellow SOLDIER in it and taken with a rough passion that left him with spasmodic cramps in his trembling thighs. He also remembered soft sheets against his belly and a slow, gentle rocking that was painful for its unfamiliarity. "Just relax, you silly goose," Kunsel teased all those years ago. 

Just as his headache began to return, Cloud was distracted by a jolt of pleasure that ran from his groin down to his toes as Kunsel pinched the head of his cock, then soothed it by swiping his fist around and around. Biting back a moan, Cloud arched and strained, his hips jerking as he came, panting.

Kunsel's eyes were glued to his face, and the SOLDIER looked awed as he whispered, "You're so beautiful, Cloud... Whatever happened to you...I'm glad you're back. You're different... That's obvious. But you're alive, and that's all that matters. Whatever trouble you've gotten yourself into, we'll work it out, okay?"

Shivering a little for the sweat that now beaded his skin, Cloud pulled Kunsel in for one last, charged kiss, before he slipped away without another word. He didn't trust himself to speak without giving too much away.

Feeling a little self-conscious, he headed for the bathroom to clean up and wash his face before reconvening with Barret and Tifa. They had a task to complete and they had best get on with it before things went sideways. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to Cloud how recognizable a 1st like him would be around here, even after years in the field. If Kunsel knew his face, others surely must, too.

It was strange, too, to remember he had once belonged here, a loyal company hound who did as he was instructed, attacking when ordered and rolling over when told. He hadn't always been entirely obedient, and perhaps that was what brought him to this, now, biting the hand that had once fed him... But Shinra had bitten him first. He had no nee for guilt.

*

The noise of the chopper made it difficult to converse, so Reno was a little antsy after they picked Rufus up and turned right around to head back to Shinra. There was a lot he wanted to say to the man he hadn't seen in a while, and he was in a strange limbo with all that was going on back in Midgar lately. So when Rufus' voice came over the headset, he was all too happy to hear it.

"Reno. Come back here."

"Sure thing, Vice-Pres! You got this, Rude?"

"...I have the controls," his partner deadpanned, determined to follow protocol, even if Reno flaunted it.

"That you do, buddy," Reno agreed, taking off his headset and patting Rude on the shoulder. He clambered through from the cockpit to the passenger seats, too enthusiastic to be wary of the huge, growling dog that sat at his master's side, shifting with agitation. "What can I do for you, eh?" he asked, speaking loudly by Rufus' ear to be heard.

"Shut up, for one..." Rufus informed him, grabbing him about the neck and pulling him in for a greeting kiss. 

Settling into Rufus' lap, Reno kissed his boss back, just assertively enough that his enthusiasm was evident without being mistaken for a bid for control. A deep rumble to his right made him jump, and he warily opened one eye to keep tabs on the dangerous beast Rufus called a pet.

Chuckling, Rufus reached out to ruffle the dog's fur, pressing him down to the seat to lie flat with his chin on his paws, content under his master's hand. The hand in Reno's hair was just as commanding, pushing Reno's face down toward Rufus' lap. The intention was clear, and Reno was game.

He pushed aside coat folds and buckles, and opened Rufus up to his discretion, quickly going to work on the hard length that awaited him. This was almost as good as a conversation, especially with a man like Rufus who rarely let you know what he was thinking. Being shown that he was required meant more to Reno than being told, and so he relished this moment of certainty, putting his all into pleasing the man who would be company president one day, under whom he was proud to serve.

Sometimes, he had to do difficult things, and make impossible choices, but he knew that Rufus would be the kind of president who made sure it was always for the greater good. He respected and admired that. It was sexy.

While it was hard to hear over the whomp of the rotors, a deep hum told him Rufus appreciated his dedication. A firm hand kneaded his head, his hair stroked back from his face by Rufus' thumb as he hollowed his cheeks and bobbed his neck.

It was that hand that warned him moments before Rufus erupted in his mouth, gripping his skull tight. Breathing through his nose, Reno swallowed it all down, licking up what he missed like a good boy. When he was done, Rufus pulled him up, lapping a globule from his chin and then kissing him tenderly.

"How strange to think I could have died today," he said into Reno's ear, nibbling at the cartilage.

"Wait, what?" Reno recoiled in shock, trying to guage any sign of a joke in Rufus' expression.

Wrapping his hand back around Reno's head, Rufus jerked him close again, crushing his cheek against a strong jaw. "Sephiroth was in Junon. He warned me of his plans... I wonder why? If I were him...I would have killed me." Patting Reno's face, Rufus let him disengage, but kept him close, speaking over the noise though Reno was forced to partially lip-read. "Sephiroth is not the loyal hero he once was. He's gone mad. You'd best keep that in mind next time you see him."

A thrill of fear went through Reno at that. Sephiroth? Gone mad? That super-human strength was frightening in an ally, nevermind a maniac.

Belatedly, he was struck with just how much danger Rufus must have been in, and the stress he must have felt. He could have requested Rude's assistance, but he chose Reno to help him unwind, and that was humbling.

Throwing his arms around the vice president, Reno held on tight and shouted, "You're too hot to waste, boss!"

A rising growl alerted Reno that he'd crossed a line, but he squeezed his eyes shut tight and held on, anyway, braced for a bite. Rufus' voice was calm and quiet, but Reno just barely heard him say, "Down, boy. You, too, Darkstar," as he was peeled off and pushed back toward the cockpit. With a gesture of his head, Rufus sent him back to the pilot's seat, picking up his discarded headset and putting it back on.

Rude's silent glance conveyed only a hint of jealousy, along with an eyebrow raised in question. When Reno donned his own headset again, Rufus was all business, informing them that Sephiroth would likely be at headquarters when they returned and that they were not to engage under any circumstances. Tseng and the rest of the Turks were under orders to stand down and otherwise let Heidegger deal with the situation as he saw fit.

"And AVALANCHE?" asked Rude, questioning neither the orders, nor the sudden and inexplicable return of a legendary SOLDIER long gone MIA.

"I'm aware of the bait that has been set. Let's just see what we shall see," Rufus responded.

He had a history with the terrorist faction, but Reno doubted he was behind the group chasing Aerith. Reno and Rude would just have to follow Rufus' lead on that one. Reno himself had mixed feelings about the renegade he now knew had been on the run with Zack. There was still a lot he wanted to know about those two, and Sephiroth, and what had gone down in Nibelheim four years ago.

*

Standing down as ordered, Tseng sent Elena off to take a bath and pamper herself a little while she had the chance. Meanwhile, he sat himself down with a small portion of sherry to fortify him and opened up the video Hojo had sent. He might almost have been grateful for it, had it not meant that Hojo had seen this, too, and what a creep like that had done with this footage did not bear thinking about. Yet, Tseng couldn't ignore it, for he also had to ask the question of who else the file had been sent to.

*

It was easy enough to load the file and convert its contents into holographic imagery. More complicated, was programming motion, speech, and sensory reactivity. Chadley hoped Cloud would appreciate the effort he put into this exciting new add-on to his battle simulator. After all, the battle for dominance was likely to be an important data set for Chadley's ambitions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Swipes at the pesky plot that loosely threatens continuity*


End file.
